CIA IV: One Existing and One Perceived
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Part 4 of my CIA series. Things have gone from bad to worse for Tim, and this time, he doesn't know if he'll survive or if the others will find him in time. Does contain moments of torture. Complete.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This is the long-awaited part four of my CIA series. (It _is_ long-awaited, isn't it? ...well, _I've_ been long awaiting it.) It takes place about a year after part three, _I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly_. At about chapter 33, there will be a reference to an episode in season 9, _A Desperate Man_, and makes reference to a oneshot episode tag I wrote called _Lost_. Otherwise, there are no spoilers in this story, and it's still within the AU which began with _Followed_.

One note about the Arabic text and translation: It is my own work, and I apologize to anyone who might be fluent in Arabic and can see how clunky some of my Arabic is. I fully admit that I only really know Modern Standard Arabic and that I'm much better at translating medieval texts than I am at conversing in it. :)

**Disclaimer:**I do not own NCIS or any of the characters therein. I am not making money off these stories. Alas.

* * *

><p><strong>One Existing and One Perceived<br>**CIA Series, part IV  
>by Enthusiastic Fish<p>

_The world is given to me only once, not one existing and one perceived. Subject and object are only one. The barrier between them cannot be said to have broken down as a result of recent experience in the physical sciences, for this barrier does not exist.  
><em>_~Erwin Schrodinger _

**Prologue**

The door clanged open, revealing a man, bound to a chair. His head was drooping onto his chest. He was wearing only enough that he wasn't naked, although occasionally, they didn't even give him that much dignity.

He stirred very little although his mind was still horribly clear. He sensed every moment, heard every word...felt every pain. They were unaware of how much he was taking in, of how much he was noticing his surroundings. They thought he was broken. In some ways, he was. ...but in the ways that mattered most, he wasn't.

He hadn't told them anything. They didn't know his real weakness. They knew only that they wanted something from him...and that he wasn't giving it to them.

The first swing knocked the chair over. This had happened too often for him to be surprised by it. He had stopped trying to suppress his screams, his moans, the indications that they had truly hurt him. Why bother covering up something they both knew? Lately, he had taken to only groaning...not out of strength but out of weakness. It took too much energy to scream in pain...and he had none to spare.

As the beating continued, the man found that he was able to continue his strangely logical train of thought. It was funny. Even as he was groaning with the pain being inflicted on him, a part of him was separate from all that and was laughing at them thinking this was going to get him to do what they wanted. After so much experience with pain, he wondered how long it would take to put him beyond his limits of endurance. They weren't even close yet. His body might be giving up, but his mind wasn't. His mind was sitting cozily in its space wondering why they thought this would work.

They righted the chair, using his hair to pull him up. Then, they waited. He laughed at them. He was weeping, shuddering, trembling from the extremity, but he laughed. Hadn't they seen all the scars? The tokens of his broken legs, the melted skin on his back, the patchwork from the shrapnel...and those six small thin scars on his torso? Did they really think it would be this easy to break him?

"You think this is funny?" the man hissed at him, grabbing his hair and lifting his head. The English was accented but easily understandable. "You think this is a joke?"

Struggling, he opened his eyes (or he opened the one that still functioned normally) and tried to blink away the tears. "A joke? N-No. But funny? Yes. Y-You're...not going to...get what you w-w-want from me...and you...think that this...will help. _That_ is very funny." He laughed again.

The man backhanded him across the face, so hard that the chair fell over again. This time, he landed strangely and felt something crack. That was enough to make him scream...but not to talk. The man was angry and kicked him in the stomach before walking out of the...cell...room...space.

Four years. Four years of saying that he might be in danger from terrorists. Four years of fighting against people who tried to beat him down, tried to take control of him. It had taken four years for their worst fears to come true. ...and even then, all their precautions had been for nothing. Somehow, they knew who he was, they knew at least _something_ about what he could do. He thought he might know how...but he wasn't sure. He wouldn't _be_ sure unless they told him...and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. If he was right, it would only hurt him more.

Would it help to know how they had found him? Maybe for the future...but right now, he couldn't see much of a future...and what he could see was all drenched in pain.

He lay there on the floor for a long time, hearing the wind outside, wind that occasionally carried in swirls of sand that got into his eyes. He suddenly realized that there was a window in his cell and he could look out it from his current position. It was nighttime. How strange to consider the possibility of time passing. In here, it was generally just long periods of isolation or else short periods (which seemed very long) of pain.

He could see a star, but only one and he couldn't tell which it was. He didn't even know which direction he was facing, how much time had passed...nothing.

If they left him in this position all night long, he could know where he was in relation to the North Star. That was something...a positive note amidst the agony of laying on his newly-broken arm. He kept his one working eye trained on that star. ...and waited as time marched very slowly along. The star moved. It wasn't the North Star, then. Too bad. That would have been easier. Too easy, probably. His life wasn't easy and hadn't been for a long time.

What they couldn't know was that they had, in a way, made his life a _lot_ easier. In the past, he had been conflicted about what he was doing, with whom he was working. The ethics, the _morality_ of the choices he had made ate at him. ...but these guys. There was nothing to be conflicted about. They were trying to get him to betray his country. That meant he had to refuse. That meant they were terrorists. That meant that he didn't have to worry about ulterior motives or anything else. All he had to do was resist. ...and he could hate them. He could try and kill them if the opportunity arose. ...but in the main, all he had to do was resist...and he was good at that. It was an amazing feeling of freedom that buoyed him up even as they broke him down.

At some point, he knew, he would be pushed over the edge and he would try to help them. He couldn't hold out forever. ...but if he could hold out long enough, he wouldn't be _able_ to help them, no matter how much he might want to. The question was how long he could last until it was too late.

The star moved out of his narrow field of view and vanished. Other stars appeared after another hour or so...but he wanted to know what that first star was. He wanted to see those stars which had so unexpectedly lit up the night.

Considering the way his life was currently going...they might be the last beautiful thing he ever saw.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_One month earlier..._

Quick strokes on the keyboard were the only sounds in the apartment. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air, something that made the room's only occupant need to complete his latest entry as soon as possible. These slight twinges hadn't failed him in the past and he didn't think they were about to start now.

_The NSA has their fingers in a lot of pies, as the saying goes. I didn't think it would be so easy to find out, but they more or less bragged about it the last time I went there. I never realized how deep their access goes. What I found in my initial hacking attempts was only the surface. The NSA...it's like Big Brother...only it's watching the rest of the world. Besides, I don't think anyone who complains about violations of privacy realize how _many_ people there are in the world. Why would the NSA listen in on the conversations of a man in a piazza in Rome when there are known terrorists scattered throughout the Middle East and elsewhere who are worth tracking? _

_I say that...and yet, I myself feel a revulsion at knowing just how much information is available to...well, to me. It's dangerous, risking too much...and yet..._

Tim sighed and rolled his neck around on his shoulders, feeling the cracking and popping. It was late and he needed to go to bed. It was back to NCIS in the morning and he was extremely grateful for that. His stints at the other agencies had continued, after a fashion, in the year since the attempted bombing of Washington, D.C. and its environs. The difference was that _he_ dictated when and how long. There had been few visits, although he did have more work (which he could do from home) that took away some of his free time. He didn't mention this to anyone...except for Gibbs. As he had promised, Tim had kept Gibbs informed of what was going on. It was amazing to him how much easier it was to deal with his life as it was when someone else knew that he was dealing with it. Tony and Ziva, however, only knew that he was still doing some extra work. They didn't know the extent...nor did they have a clue about the promise which still hung over his head. They didn't know what he had done to get them back. They never would if he could help it. Tony still gave him a look sometimes that spoke volumes about the small measure of guilt he carried for attacking Tim, for giving him up to the people who tortured Ziva.

He was done with writing about his work with the NSA. What he'd been writing for the last hour were his thoughts on his work. He found that it helped him maintain a degree of equanimity when he could record his own feelings.

...and now, this feeling was bothering him. This feeling of something coming. Where did it originate? Was it just him being paranoid again? It happened accasionally. Sometimes, he just couldn't avoid feeling as though he was being watched. ...and not just by his CIA shadows. Something felt wrong. With one last sigh, he saved and encrypted his work, put it on his flash drive and stored it in his box which sat on a wooden shelf. He had to do something about it. ...tomorrow.

He stopped and looked out his window, across the street...and at the camera set up to watch his apartment. Then, he turned out the light and went to bed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a beautiful morning, and Tim was awake before it began. The sun hadn't risen yet, but Tim was wide awake. With a deep breath, he decided to go out for a morning run. It was one of his more entertaining notions because he knew that someone followed him pretty much everywhere...and that meant they had to go running with him.

_Maybe I should get a dog and then I would have someone I actually chose with me at all times, rather than CIA spooks. _

...but today, he had an ulterior motive. Halfway through his run, he slowed to a walk and turned around. He recognized the person following him. He'd been assigned to the watching detail a few months ago, and he seemed quite respectful. This was the first time Tim broke through the barrier between himself and his watchers.

"Tired yet?" he asked, gesturing to a bench.

"This is a surprise. I knew you could see me, but you've been mostly ignoring us since I've been on this detail."

"I'm Tim. You are?"

"Geoff."

"I need to talk to you. Have a seat?"

"Sure, okay."

Tim sat down and smiled at his guardian's discomfort.

"I've mostly been impressed by how you've done your job. I haven't really noticed you guys much for the last little while. It's easy to pretend I don't see you."

"But you _are_ pretending?"

"Most of the time," Tim said and shrugged.

"So why are you talking to me now?"

"You're not supposed to look inside my apartment," Tim said.

"And I don't! None of us do. We know the rules."

Tim smiled at Geoff's vehemence. "I know you don't. That's not what I was saying."

"What _were_ you saying, then?"

"I want you to _start_ watching inside my apartment."

Geoff gave Tim a suspicious look. "Why?"

"Call it paranoia. I have a feeling that something could happen, and if it does, I'll need all the help I can get."

Geoff leaned back on the bench and stared across the park for a while. Tim took the opportunity to scrutinize the agent. He was a bit past his prime, he decided, perhaps late forties, early fifties, but he had the same intensity and aura of confidence he'd come to expect from CIA agents. He supposed it came from having to rely only on one's self. Ziva had the same aura most of the time.

"Who exactly _are_ you, then?" Geoff asked. "A superhero? A dangerous criminal?"

"Nope. I'm an NCIS agent." Tim laughed even though his thoughts took a painful turn toward the abyss of deep regret for the past. "...but I have done things that I shouldn't be able to do. I know things I shouldn't know. That makes me a liability...in some people's eyes. The guard duty is a sop to people who don't trust me or each other. ...but I'm beginning to think it might be necessary."

"Okay. So...you want us aiming inside your apartment, now?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Until something happens, I guess...or until the paranoia wears off. It's getting close to a year from the last time something happened. It might just be that."

"But it might not and you want to be ready?"

"Yeah."

"That's fine...but you make it official, okay? The main rule we're supposed to follow is _not_ having surveillance inside your apartment. I don't want to lose my job."

"I'll make the calls," Tim said, nodding. "You've been on this detail for a while now. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I mean...if something _does_ happen, doing this could possibly be fatal. If nothing happens, you're probably bored out of your mind. Why stay? Most people don't."

"I don't mind it. As you said, it could be exciting if something happens. If not, then I haven't lost anything. I'm not married, and I've outgrown the whole club thing. Besides, it sounds to me like you really need the protection."

"And if you have to die for that?" Tim asked.

"If so, then at least I'll be dying for a good cause. That's more than some people can say."

Tim didn't respond directly. "You might just make me revise my opinion of CIA spooks."

Geoff laughed. "And you're really not as terrifying as some of the other guys think you are."

Tim managed a lopside smile.

"You going to run back?"

"Yeah. I have work."

"Take the pace a bit slower, okay?"

Tim laughed. "Will do."

He set off back toward his apartment and knew that there were two more people who needed to know about his strange feeling. He only _wanted_ to talk to one of them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Agent McGee, this is a surprise."_

Tim tried not to grimace. He'd had little reason to speak to Levi Carew over the last year. He hated that he needed to now.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm changing the surveillance pattern."

"You_ are changing the pattern? To what?"_

"The people watching my apartment are going to be looking inside as well as around the outside of the building."

A moment of silence. Was it possible that Tim had managed to surprise the unflappable CIA director?

"_What brought this change on?"_

"Paranoia. I just wanted to make sure you knew so that no one got in trouble for it. It's at my request."

"_Very well. I'll make a note of it. How long?"_

"As long as I feel it's necessary."

"_So noted. Is that all, Agent McGee?"_

"Yes."

There was a click in his ear and Tim took a deep breath. The worst call was done. He could tell Gibbs later. Maybe tonight. He'd been wanting to try the chisel and maybe do some beveling on his next project...whatever it ended up being. He'd started paying Gibbs for the wood. Gibbs had resisted at first, but Tim had persisted, even to the point of buying his _own_ wood and bringing it with him, causing Gibbs to grumble that he didn't know anything about picking out good wood for certain projects and grudgingly taking the money. Tim suspected most of it went toward the coffee that was always available. Maybe some of the bourbon Gibbs kept stored down there. At least he hadn't broken any of the tools...not yet, anyway.

Time to go to work. Thank goodness. Tim still felt safest and happiest at NCIS. _That_ was his sanctuary. His apartment was just where he slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Welcome back from Fort Meade," Ziva said, smiling as Tim came into the bullpen. "It was much too noisy while you were gone."

"Too noisy?"

"Yes, Tony seemed to feel it necessary to make as much noise as he thought you would make if you _were_ here...at least if you had been followed by an entire orchestra."

Tim laughed. "Is he in yet?"

"Not yet. It is his morning."

Tim felt some of the contentment leech out of him at the reminder that Tony and Ziva were both still having therapy. Not as often, only once a week or so, but the scars from Tim's last mission had been both physical _and_ psychological...and lasting.

"Gibbs?"

"He is here...somewhere."

"Right." Tim looked around for a glimpse of Jardine. As far as he knew, she was still keeping tabs on him...and he still didn't like it.

"McGee? McGee?"

Tim looked back at Ziva. "What?"

"Are you all right? You seem...different."

"I'm fine. Just... it's almost been a year."

"Yes. I know. In fact, depending on where you begin counting, it has been _over_ a year."

"Yeah. Anyway..." Tim shook off his dark mood. "Tony'll be back soon, right?"

"Of course. We were much more concerned about _you_ making it back."

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away from NCIS."

"I will be sure to bring some in to try."

Tim smiled and headed to his desk. When Tony came in half an hour later, he was quiet, but that was normal for the weeks when he had therapy. Tim didn't comment on it and neither did he. They just worked. It would take a few hours for the tension the three of them felt to dissipate.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So, I found that..." Abby stopped talking and walked over to Tim who was staring blankly at the computer screen. He'd been more distracted than usual today and she didn't like it when Tim got quiet and pensive. He was too likely to be thinking about the past, the things that troubled him still. To fend them off, she gave him a hug. "Earth to Tim?"

Tim jumped a little and then looked at her and smiled before returning that hug.

"Sorry, Abbs. Not thinking straight at the moment."

"I noticed. You're supposed to be hanging on my every word. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just feel..."

"What?" Abby asked, more surprised than she showed that Tim was on the verge of saying something more than that he was fine. It was his usual answer when she asked him.

"...something isn't right. Maybe. I don't know." Tim sighed. "It's probably just the time, but...but it's like...like something is going to happen. A gut feeling."

"Like Gibbs gets?"

"I guess...probably not as reliable."

"Is it the NSA stuff you were doing?"

"No. I know it's not that. Thank goodness. That was pretty straightforward...although still classified," he added.

Abby laughed, knowing that she had looked eager to ask about what he did on these little assignments.

"Just remember that we're here for you, Tim. You're not alone."

"I know, Abbs. ...and I'm glad of it." Tim gave her another hug. "Now, you were about to tell me the results of your chemical analysis."

Abby accepted the change of topic and got back to work, even if she regretted a little that Tim was still separated from his friends by his situation. Not as badly as it had been before, but still separated.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss, can I try that chisel out tonight?" Tim asked near the end of the day.

Gibbs gave him a look and then nodded without comment.

"Thanks."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What's up, McGee?"

Tim finished sawing the board before answering.

"I don't know, Boss."

"McGee."

"I really don't. There might be _nothing_ up. I just feel like there is."

"Anything specific?"

Tim had decided to try making a jewelry box for his mom. As always, he was feeling his way through it and anticipated making a lot of mistakes along the way. That was why he did it.

"I feel like I'm being watched...by someone _other_ than the CIA."

A laugh. Then, more silence. Tim started putting together the pieces of scrap he was using to test out both the chisel and his mental design.

"Any idea who?"

"No."

"One of the other agencies?"

"I don't think so."

"Someone else, then?"

"I guess. Honest, Boss. It's nothing I can point to specifically, but I've been feeling this for a few days now...since before I headed to Fort Meade."

More silence. Tim began gluing the sides together.

"What are you doing about it?"

"I asked my watchers to watch more closely. At least for now."

"Good. Anything we can do?"

"No. I'm hoping that it's just plain old paranoia because it's been about a year since the last time something happened."

"You remember what I told you, McGee?"

"That's why I'm telling you now, Boss."

"You think maybe Carew is going to cash in on your debt?"

"No. He didn't say anything when I called him this morning."

"You called him?"

Tim winced. He was glad he was facing the boards and not Gibbs.

"Yeah. I had to...to get the surveillance changed. He didn't say anything about it and he would have. You know he would have."

"All right, McGee. You're telling me everything?"

Tim put down the glue and turned around. Gibbs was already looking at him.

"I promise, Boss. I don't know anything more than I'm telling you right now. I swear that I'm telling the truth."

"Good. And if something does come up?"

"If it's humanly possible, I'll tell you."

"Have you thought about bringing Tony and Ziva into the loop?"

"Yes, I have...and I'm not going to."

"Will you ever?"

"I'm sure I'll have to eventually...but Tony still feels guilty. We're all still walking on eggshells around each other...or they are around me...or..." Tim turned back. "I don't know...but right now, I'm not letting them know what I did."

"What you did _for_ them?"

"Yeah."

"What if they want to return the favor?"

"I'd rather they didn't."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"McGee, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Tim turned back with the half-made box in his hands. "You remember that first box I made, Boss? The really crappy one?"

"Yeah. Vaguely."

"I'm still like that. Not always, but sometimes...sometimes, I can't help looking at my life and seeing only the twisted, skewed angles of something that used to be and is supposed to be straight. If they have to twist their lives to save me...I'd rather not be saved."

"They won't agree."

"I know. That's why I hope I'm just being paranoid." Tim set down the box. "Because, Boss, if something does happen...I don't think anyone will be able to stop it. I think I'll _need_ to be saved in order to get out of it alive. ...and I don't want to ruin any more lives, not to save myself. I'd rather die."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes. I don't _want_ to die...but I'll take death over the destruction of someone else's life. Can you remember that, Boss?"

"I can, McGee."

Tim could see that Gibbs remembering it wouldn't mean much...and he prayed that what he feared wouldn't ever happen. He stayed until he had finished gluing together his test run. Then, he went home and had a glimpse of the observers across the street.

He slept horribly that night.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The next few days passed in typical fashion. Tim worked. He went home. He felt their eyes on him wherever he went, be they CIA eyes...or the other eyes that he couldn't justify to himself or to anyone else. A new case got called in and they worked on it...in the same strained manner that had become depressingly normal for them all.

Gibbs noticed...and he noticed Tim's increasing stress as the days went by and nothing happened. He decided that no matter what Tim had decided, he needed to do something about it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The elevator jolted to a stop and Tim looked at Gibbs in surprise.

"What is it, Boss?"

"McGee, this isn't working," Gibbs said, deciding not to beat around the bush at all.

"What isn't?"

"You keeping all this from Tony and Ziva."

As he had expected, Tim's eyes widened and he almost back away from what he thought Gibbs was saying.

"No, Boss. You promised me back when I confided in you that you wouldn't tell them if I didn't agree. ...and I don't. I'm not telling them."

"McGee, you have to."

"No! No, I don't! They..." Tim turned around and stared at the wall. "They're not ready to hear it."

"They're not ready to hear it or you're not ready to say it?"

Tim didn't answer.

"If you won't tell them about what really happened last year, then you need to tell them about how you're feeling right now. You need to tell them about what you're afraid of."

"Why? Why do you think they need to know? It could be nothing. I could be just overly-paranoid. It could..."

_Thwack!_

Gibbs turned Tim around. "It could be nothing...but it could be something. If something does happen, how do you think they'll feel knowing that you were afraid something was going to happen and didn't tell them?"

Tim dropped his head. "I don't want them to worry about me. They do that enough as it is. Why make it worse?"

"Because you keep all this to yourself, you're liable to implode...and when they find out, they'll think you don't trust them." He paused. "_Do_ you trust them?"

"Mostly."

That was a surprise. "Only mostly?"

"I don't think I can totally trust _anyone_ anymore, Boss. I've noticed...I think the worst first...and then I acknowledge that I might be wrong. People...they aren't good in my eyes anymore. They're sneaky, underhanded...and possibly criminal."

"And we all fit under that category?"

"No. No, I know you're all the good guys. ...but..."

"But?"

"...but you can't understand. None of you can...and so...I can't completely trust you. Even you, Boss. You know more than the rest...but still you can't understand. The only way you could is if you were like I was before and then changed...like I did. ...but you weren't...and you're not. So...I mostly trust you all...but not in everything. I don't think I ever will again. I just don't know how to."

Gibbs felt a sharper pang than he'd anticipated at Tim's confession. He pushed it away, however, and continued on with his advice...which he now thought was more important than ever.

"McGee."

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Tell them about how you're afraid. Tell them about thinking someone might be following you. Tell them something...let them in and see if you can trust them more than you do right now."

"And if I can't?"

"You can, Tim. You used to trust us all. How often did we let you down?"

"Do you want the list or should I just give the cliche response?" Tim asked, his voice bitter.

Gibbs didn't respond. He just turned the elevator back on. Tim got off at Abby's lab without looking back. Gibbs let the doors close and then stopped the elevator just as it began to descend. What had been done to Tim over the last four years was horrible. He would bear the physical scars for the rest of his life. ...but it was the emotional scars that he was most worried about now. His life was better than it had been...but that wasn't saying much considering his life in the past had actually driven him into temporary insanity.

After a few minutes, he let the elevator continue on to its destination. At Autopsy.

Ducky was working with Jimmy as was usual for the two of them at this time of day, but Gibbs had to disrupt their routine.

"Ducky? You got a minute?"

Ducky looked up and caught both Gibbs' tone and his expression. "Yes, Jethro. Mr. Palmer, why don't you take a long break? Go study for that test." He smiled and gave him an encouraging pat.

Jimmy glanced back and forth between the two of them and nodded. "Okay, Doctor. ...but I don't really need to study all that much. I've been working on it for days already. I think I'll...get some...fresh air...or something...like that."

"Go, Jimmy. It's not required that you make up a lie."

Jimmy flushed and left the room.

"What is it, Jethro?"

"Has McGee talked to you much?"

"You mean in a pseudo-professional capacity?" Ducky asked. "Not much. Occasionally, he will grace me with his presence and ask questions. Why?"

"How would you rate his mental health?"

"On a scale of one to ten?" Ducky asked with a slight smile.

"Ducky. I'm serious."

"I know, Jethro. I'd probably say that Timothy is a solid six point five, perhaps even a seven on his better days in terms of his mental and emotional well-being."

"Do you think there's a risk of him going nuts again?"

"Are you referring to his brief reactive psychosis?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to gauge, but there is always a possibility of recurrence, particularly when, as in Timothy's case, the major stressors aren't eliminated. In his case, they _can't_ be. So, yes, there is a possibility. I do not think it is a major risk, however. Timothy has shown his remarkable resilience in dealing with the continued situation. Why?"

"I wish I was as confident."

"Do you have a reason why you're not, Jethro?"

"I was just talking to him. He said he doesn't really trust us anymore. ...not all the way. He said he can't because of what's happened to him."

"It's sad to hear, Jethro, but you shouldn't be surprised."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows in a mute query.

"Oh, come now, Jethro. Can you not see the way that Timothy's life has been uprooted? He went from a very sheltered existence to one in which not only has he been brutally attacked by people who are supposed to be the so-called _good_ guys but he has also, himself, been forced to _do_ things that the _good_ guys don't do. He doesn't wholly trust himself. How could he possibly trust anyone outside of himself?"

"You knew all this?"

"Not explicitly, but as I say, it makes sense." Ducky sighed and smiled in sad understanding. "Jethro, until Timothy can find a way to truly accept what he has done _and_ what has been done to him, he won't be able to trust _anyone_ completely."

"It's been four years."

"Since it began, but it has only been a _single_ year since the last incident...and he has not received the kind of therapy that would normally be deemed necessary for someone in his position."

"He hasn't? Why not?"

"You shouldn't have to ask that question, Jethro. He doesn't trust anyone...and the CIA, while it would offer up its own psychiatrists as alternatives, doesn't trust the run-of-the-mill psychiatrists either. ...and you know that Timothy won't accept help from the CIA if he can avoid it."

"He's sought their help before."

It was Ducky's turn to be surprised. "You know?"

"Yeah. McGee told me last year...only because I promised I'd keep his secret for him. I've never wanted to break a promise more."

"Nevertheless, doing so would be a very bad idea."

"I know."

"Give him time, Jethro. The longer he goes without being under assault from all sides, the more likely he will be to accept help from others."

"You're telling me to be patient?"

"Yes," Ducky said with a smile. "I know you have the ability to be patient even if you rarely exhibit it. Try. Accept what Timothy can give for now. Trying to get more won't help. What he needs is for his friends and colleagues not to give up on him...even if he doesn't realize that."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat at his desk, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He was afraid that he'd see the pain in their eyes again...but he didn't want to keep them away from him. ...but he didn't want to face causing them more anguish and anxiety than he already had.

By the end of the day, he hadn't come to any firm decision, although he knew Gibbs had been staring at him more. He'd been expecting Gibbs to announce Tim's deal with the devil for all the world to hear...but Gibbs hadn't said anything. It both surprised and relieved Tim...but it didn't make the decision any easier to make.

He left NCIS ahead of the others, but he didn't go home. Instead, he walked to the park and sat on a bench, trying to think of what would be best.

"Hey, McGee, what's up?"

Tim looked back over his shoulder and saw Tony and Ziva crossing the grass, neatly circling the cannon to join him.

"Nothing really. Why?"

"You've been pretty out of it, today," Tony said. "What's going on?"

"Maybe nothing...maybe something. I don't know."

"Tell us," Ziva said, sitting on one side of him while Tony sat on the other. "What is wrong?"

Tim looked at them both and then forward, across the empty park.

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I...feel like someone's watching me. Not the CIA...but someone worse."

A moment of silence.

"I'm probably just being paranoid, right?" Tim asked. "I mean, there's no reason to think that. You're probably thinking that..."

"Wait, McGee. We said nothing like that," Ziva said.

"We didn't saying anything at all, Probie," Tony said, smiling slightly. "You didn't really give us a chance to."

"I feel like..." Tim looked back over his shoulder.

"Right now?" Ziva asked.

"All the time," Tim said quietly.

"For how long?"

"A few weeks."

Ziva stood up. "Why talk out here? We have not had dinner together for a while."

Tim smiled a little. "I'm not really very hungry."

"Ah, but that means you're a _little_ bit hungry, right, McGee?" Tony said, also standing up.

Tim could recognize a hopeless case when he saw it. He sighed and stood to join them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They went to a small restaurant that was quiet. Crowded but not so much that they couldn't have a private conversation. They didn't say much of anything at first, focused more on making their orders and then eating. Finally, though, Ziva was the one to bring it up again.

"Do you feel as though you are being watched everywhere?"

"Basically," Tim said.

"In your apartment?"

"Well, I _know_ I'm being watched in my apartment. ...but I guess it's probably less there than it is elsewhere."

"What about at NCIS?" Tony asked. "Do you feel it there?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I feel safe at NCIS...like always."

"I do not think you are paranoid, McGee."

"You don't? Why not?"

Tony laughed. "You _want_ to be paranoid, Probie?"

"Actually, yeah. I think I'd prefer that. If I was just being paranoid, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone coming after me."

"Point taken."

"Because you can point to times when you feel less like you are being watched, I believe that you are reacting to something your mind is subconsciously processing," Ziva said.

"Come again?"

"Do you always know where your CIA tails are?"

"Most of the time."

"Do you know, now, Probie?"

Tim scanned the restaurant once. "Yes."

"So your conscious mind is aware of your official watchers. It is possible that, in your semi-conscious search for them, you are seeing someone else more often than is normal...but because your mind is on the CIA, you are not making a conscious connection."

"Is that possible?" Tim asked. "I've looked around for someone but I've never seen them."

"If they're any good at following you, McGee, they won't let you see them when you're actually looking."

"True."

"What are you going to do about it?" Ziva asked.

"I told Carew to put my watchers on high alert for a while. They're...watching inside my apartment now, not just around it. They're keeping a closer eye out. I just...I don't think it will do any good."

"Why not?"

Tim looked out the window toward the street. "Because...I have this feeling that if these people really are following me...they've been doing it long enough that they'll do whatever it takes to get me. ...and I don't think the CIA...or you guys can stop them...whoever they are."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Three days later, Tim suddenly stood up from his desk and headed to the stairs.

"McGee, where are you going?" Gibbs asked.

Tim stopped and looked back. For just a moment, he seemed lost, as if he didn't know himself. Then, he looked up toward Jenny's office.

"I'll be right back, Boss. I promise. I just have to...find something out...have to ask a question."

Gibbs stared for a moment. Tim had been becoming increasingly on edge since speaking with Tony and Ziva. It hadn't been affecting his work, just his downtime. He seemed to have lost all ability to relax.

"McGee?"

"I just need to ask, Boss. That's all."

"Go."

Tim went, skipping every other step as he ran. As soon as he disappeared into Jenny's office, Tony gave up the pretense of working.

"Boss, I'm worried about McGee."

"He is not well, Gibbs," Ziva said in agreement. "He is merely waiting for something bad to happen to him."

"He talked to us a few days ago about feeling as if someone was watching him. Is he going nuts again?"

"I don't think so."

"Aren't you worried?"

Gibbs sighed...and then lied. "I'm much more worried about the fact that you're still not finished with your report, DiNozzo." Then, he ostensibly went back to work...but he did wonder what question Tim felt the need to ask Jenny...right now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent McGee, what is it?"

"I have to ask you something, Director," Tim said. "If something...bad...were to happen to me now, after everyone last year wanted to take control of me...what would happen?"

"In what respect?" Jenny asked, looking genuinely confused.

"With respect to me...and my freedom."

"Oh. I see."

"Would they try to take me away again?"

"It's a possibility. If something were to happen, they would say that you aren't safe enough out in the open. The president might be forced to bow to internal pressures."

Tim suddenly felt the urge to cry. "Please, ma'am...don't let that happen. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll get a doberman. I'll move to a new apartment. Just don't let them take me away again."

Jenny stood up, concerned now. "McGee," she began and then walked around her desk and guided him to the table. "Have a seat. Take a breath. Calm down."

Tim sat down on a chair, put his elbows on the table and then hid his face in his hands.

"What has happened, Agent McGee?"

"Nothing really...just a bad feeling. ...and...NCIS is the only place I've ever been safe. Nothing bad has ever happened to me in here. I'm safe here...and I don't want anyone to take me away from it. ...but I have a bad feeling that someone is watching me and...and it's not going away. I'm afraid that someone really is going to go after me...someone besides the people I already know are trying to take me."

"Meaning?"

"The NSA, the FBI, DHS...they all want control of me. Every time I've gone to help them, it's only been the fact that I have my one piece of leverage on them that keeps me from being really afraid that they won't let me leave." Tim looked at her. "If something happens...they'll use that as an excuse to gain control of my life. Won't they?"

"It's a distinct possibility, but that's no guarantee that they'd succeed."

"Should I be doing more?"

"What have you done?"

"I've made the CIA surveillance more...invasive. I'm being more careful. I'm being paranoid, in fact. I almost wish something _would_ happen."

"Why?"

"So that I could stop feeling this way."

Jenny gave him a sympathetic smile and sat down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. It wasn't a gesture she would make in normal circumstances. But the word _normal_ hadn't described Tim's life in years.

"I'm not sure that would help matters, McGee. ...but you know, it might not be a bad idea to look at a new apartment. The security where you're currently living is nearly nonexistent."

"I...I could do that."

Jenny let her arm drop as Tim began to sit up.

"Now, don't rush into anything. Just think about it. Take the time to look around."

Tim nodded and felt a little sheepish. "I'm sorry I came barging in here like this. I just keep...thinking about it. It's my worst nightmare."

"McGee...I think you need to talk to someone about this."

"About what? Because the team already knows."

"No, I mean about you," Jenny said. "I know you don't want to trust the CIA but..."

"I'm not accepting their help unless I have to," Tim said, instantly, tensing up at the thought of being forced into even closer contact with the CIA. "I won't be any more involved with them than I already am. That agency is the reason this is still a problem."

"Okay. Okay, Tim. There must be someone they would accept. I should have insisted on this before. Tim, you need help dealing with all this. Don't try to tell me that you don't. It's much too obvious that you're not adjusting as well as you could be...if you had someone helping you."

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Tim asked, suddenly feeling worried. "I thought I was...okay, at least."

Jenny smiled. "You're doing better than I would have expected, but, Tim, with the sole exception of when you suffered from your temporary psychosis, you haven't seen a psychiatrist with any regularity...and even when you did, there was too much you couldn't talk about. Will you let me at least _try_ to find someone the CIA will accept outside their agency?"

Tim nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

"In the meantime, please, feel free to speak to Ducky. He's not a trained psychiatrist but he could at least provide an educated and listening ear. Since he already knows what's been going on, you wouldn't have to worry about things being classified."

"I don't want to be a..any trouble."

"You wouldn't be. Ducky has mentioned before that he wished you would speak to him more. You don't have to hide from us, Tim. We're only trying to help."

Tim stared at the table. If she only knew...but she didn't and she wouldn't. Only Gibbs would know...well, Ducky knew somewhat, but not specifically. Besides, none of them could really know what it was like to be Tim McGee, to wake up each day and know that something could come up and destroy your life, to go to bed and dream over and over of all the accumulated horrors of four years of Hell. None of them could know that. Only he could. It would be so nice to have someone who really did understand...but it was impossible. It couldn't happen. It never would. He was alone and would be to a degree for the rest of his life.

"McGee?"

Tim jumped a little and then flushed. He'd completely tuned Jenny out.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"It's okay. I asked if you wanted to stay at NCIS tonight rather than your apartment."

It was tempting...but... "No. If I start doing that again, I won't stop."

Jenny nodded. "It can't be permanent, but if you ever feel overwhelmed, a night or two here isn't a problem. Permanent residence would be."

Tim managed a weak laugh.

"Think about what I said, all right?"

"I will. Thank you, ma'am."

"Was there anything else?"

"Is that phone line still set up?"

"Yes. I saw no reason to disconnect it."

"Good. Just in case."

"If you know something specific, McGee..."

"I don't. It's all in my head."

"If you ever do think of something specific, please...please, tell us."

"I will."

"All right. Dismissed."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Tim got up and left the office.

"How are you doing, McGee?"

"I'm all right, Cynthia." He didn't stop although he did give her a smile as he left.

When he got back down to the bullpen, he didn't say anything about his meeting. No one asked, but they were all strangely solicitous. Tim appreciated it, although he didn't say so. Nikki Jardine walked by near the end of the day and nodded to him. Her face was covered with a mask as usual...and Tim found that he could even accept her presence with a degree of equanimity. Not complete, but a degree. It helped that she didn't try and pretend to be interested in him. She walked by when her duties called for it. No more. No less.

When the day was over, he got up to leave.

"McGee, you want to come out with us? Get a couple of drinks?"

Tim thought about it, but being in company had never seemed less appealing.

"Not tonight, guys. Tomorrow, okay?"

"You promise?" Ziva asked, smiling.

"I promise. Tomorrow night. I'm just...not feeling very social tonight."

"All right, Probie," Tony said.

Tim started to walk to the elevator, but he was halted momentarily by a surprising one-armed...could it be called a hug if it came from Tony? Probably not.

"You okay?" Tony asked, seriously.

"Not really...but I'll feel better tomorrow," Tim said. "It's just been a bad day."

"Just keep us in the loop."

"I will." _...as long as you don't ask about anything beyond this current problem..._

Then, Tony released him and Tim got on the elevator without further hindrance. It was a relief to get back to his apartment, even if he didn't particularly like it there. It would be a quiet evening. Maybe he could start looking for a new place to live. It was something he probably should have done years before.

For the first time in a while, he was seized with a desire to cook something. Nothing elaborate, just something that didn't come out of a box or from the local takeout place. He looked through his cupboards and settled on spaghetti. It was easy, fast, and tasted good.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This guy's social life is worse than yours, Geoff."

"This guy's _life_ is worse than mine, Andrews. Don't get cute."

"Sorry, sorry. I can see why he didn't mind us looking in on him. It's not like he has any interesting or racy habits."

Geoff didn't bother answering. Ever since he had spoken with Tim, he had felt differently about this assignment. Tim was scared. He was trapped by life. He was one of those people who has become important without wanting to. They were the ones who wished desperately for invisibility, something they could never get. That was Tim. He was important. He was in danger. He hated what his life had become.

His last evening, however, was as uneventful as he could have wished.

...at least it was until the first smoke grenade went off in his apartment.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Geoff stood and actually seemed to meet Tim's frightened gaze across the street before the smoke filled the apartment. Tim shook his head. Then, he turned his head toward the door and disappeared from view.

"How–?"

"Don't bother with that, Andrews!" Geoff barked. "Call the others in for backup and make a report. I'm heading over. Tell them they'd better meet me at McGee's apartment." He started to run, calling back one more order over his shoulder. "Tell Matheson to take the fire escape!"

As he ran, he wondered if Tim's headshake had been a message or if it had just been resignation to what he saw as inevitable. Regardless, Geoff knew his duty and that was to protect Timothy McGee. That was all that mattered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim covered his eyes with his arm, trying to keep smoke out of them, gun in hand, and ran in the direction of his bedroom when the second smoke grenade went off, followed by a stun grenade. Whoever they were, they weren't taking any chances. He got to the bedroom, and found his phone by touch alone. He heard someone behind him and fired randomly. He was rewarded by hearing a quickly-suppressed cry of pain.

_Good._ That was all the time he spent thinking about it. He pressed number two on his speed dial.

"_Gibbs."_

There were more coming. Tim fired twice more...but didn't hit anything.

"_Who is this?"_

"Help me, Boss!"

Tim had no time for more. Another flashbang went off and this time, he wasn't ready for it. He went momentarily blind and didn't see them come at him. He didn't know anything until the hands grabbed at him and a needle pierced a vein in his arm. He struggled wildly against their hands. He tried to get away. He fought as hard as he could...but at the back of his mind was a certainty that no matter what he did, he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop them. There were too many of them. It was too well planned. There was nothing he could do. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as they continued to hold him down.

He realized that he was screaming inarticulately at them as he fought. It was too late to stop them, too late to escape...but he could resist for as long as he was able. That was what life was about. Resisting when you could, trying to put off the inevitable.

Tim felt his mind beginning to go fuzzy. Fighting got harder and the hands loosened their grip. He could feel the tread of the various people back and forth across the floor and then he was pulled up. He wasn't unconscious. He had been...rendered totally limp. His mind was certainly reeling, but his body had given up first.

His sight was clearing...but that meant he got to watch as Geoff went down in a hail of gunfire. He tried to cry out the pain that caused _him_, but he couldn't get his mouth to work. Instead, he just stared at the unmoving body on the floor. Then, another man moved to the window and fired twice. Another stab of anguish. That was probably aimed at one of his other watchers. More people dead because they were trying to protect him.

_And I called Gibbs, asking him for help._

Tim prayed that these people would get him out of the building and away before Gibbs could get there. If they did, Gibbs would be safe. If not...he'd die, just like everyone else who tried to help him. Just like Geoff had.

His legs made vague attempts at motion which resulted in them punching him in the face. He didn't understand why they weren't moving yet. They'd killed two, possibly three people, they had him at their mercy. Why weren't they leaving? Why?

_Leave! Take me away now! Don't wait!_

More gunfire, this time from outside. A man fell to the floor, dragging Tim down helplessly with him. He landed on the man's chest, felt the warm blood seep through his clothes and stared into the man's eyes as the light of life faded slowly away. He was young. Very young. Early twenties maybe. ...and he was dead. Another human being sacrificed on the altar of Timothy McGee.

"Huwa mayyit?"

The first words he'd heard from them. He recognized the sound of the language if not the actual words. Arabic. He was pushed roughly off the dead man. The blood on his clothes began to cool.

"Na'am."

That meant 'yes.' Tim was sure of that...pretty sure anyway.

More gunfire and then Tim was picked up again, dragged out into the hallway. Down the hallway...somewhere...else. He couldn't make his brain focus enough to understand where he was. Then, out onto a fire escape. Down to the ground. There was a van. He was thrown inside. As they drove away, one man pulled Tim's arms around his back and put plastic ties around his wrists and then his ankles. Tim was almost glad. They got away. That meant Gibbs hadn't been killed. He hoped anyway. He didn't think Gibbs could possibly have got to him in time.

He hoped that was the case.

As the van sped away, through the increasing fog in his head, Tim thought about everyone who was receding further and further away from him.

_Good-bye..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee! McGee!" Gibbs shouted into his phone. He heard the gunfire, heard Tim shouting and screaming at whoever was attacking him. It sounded like a war zone...and he was pretty certain that it was based in Tim's apartment.

He knew he'd be too late. There was just no way he could get from his house to Tim's apartment on time. It didn't stop him from trying, but he knew he wouldn't make it. Even Leroy Jethro Gibbs had to obey the laws of physics...even if the rules of the road were considered mere guidelines.

He was right.

When Gibbs arrived, the police weren't there...but the CIA was. He felt a surge of helpless anger. He hadn't been able to help Tim...but the CIA hadn't either...and it was their _job_ to protect him.

There was chaos all around. People were beginning to gather on the street, pointing up at the smoke-filled apartment Gibbs recognized as Tim's. He ran into the building, up the flight of stairs and was stopped.

"Please, sir, you need to stay back," a man said, his voice shaking but his gun steady. He wasn't very old...but he had the determined look in his eye that said he wasn't going to back down. Gibbs felt his anger ebb. He recognized the emotions in the man's eyes. They were the same emotions he was feeling only more intense.

"I'm Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS. Timothy McGee lives in that apartment and he's on my team. I need to know what's going on."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Gibbs kept his hands open and moved slowly to his jacket. "I'm getting my badge out and I'm going to show it to you. Okay?"

"Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Gibbs smiled. Young he might be, but this kid knew what he was doing. He pulled out his badge and showed it.

"Looks all right." He relaxed only slightly. "I'm Agent Andrews. Your man is gone."

Gibbs had known that would be the case but it still hurt to hear.

"What's the status?"

"We have three down. Two of theirs are dead. If they had any wounded they took them with them. We have four wounded."

Eight people watching Tim's apartment. Gibbs was surprised there were so many. He hadn't been aware that the surveillance was that tight.

"How did they get in?"

"I don't know. I was in the building across the street with Geo...with Agent Banta when the first grenade went off. I was the contact with the rest of the agency. They got here as fast as they could, but it wasn't fast enough. We failed. They got him. Whoever they were."

"No idea?"

Andrews shook his head. "I didn't even see them. Maybe Forsythe or Davenport could tell you, but they're already getting treated. I haven't spoken with them. I'm just...securing the scene."

"Can I go in and look around?"

Andrews shook his head again. "My orders are to let no one inside until the Director gets here." He looked terrified at the thought of the Director of the CIA coming. He'd probably only ever met him briefly. "You'll have to wait and take it up with him."

Director Levi Carew.

"I look forward to it, Agent Andrews," Gibbs said grimly...but decided not to force the issue. Instead, he stalked away, back out to the sidewalk. They'd have a heck of a time covering _this_ up.

While he waited for the arrival of a man he loathed, he pulled out his phone and dialed some other numbers.

"_This is Tony! Talk to me!"_ The voice was shouted and there was a lot of ambient noise.

"DiNozzo!"

"_Sorry, Boss."_ It quickly became a lot quieter. _"What is it?"_

"McGee's been taken."

A long pause.

"_What?"_

"Someone declared war on McGee's apartment and they took him."

"_What about those CIA spooks who were supposed to be _stopping_ that?"_

"Three of them are dead. Four wounded."

"_Oh."_

"Get over here. They're not going to force us to stand on the sidelines."

"_Right, Boss. On my way."_

Tony sounded shaken but he covered it well. Gibbs hung up and began to dial Ziva's number when he saw her getting out of her car. Her eyes were wide...and she had clearly _not_ come expecting a war zone.

"Gibbs...what–?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was coming to see if McGee wanted company."

Gibbs nodded, feeling the irony. "It's too late. Someone came and took him."

"How many were killed?"

"Five that I know of. Three CIA and two of whoever attacked."

"Why are you still out here?" she asked, obviously surprised at his lack of action.

"I have to wait for the arrival of the CIA Director."

"Carew is coming here?"

"Yes."

Ziva nodded and stared up at Tim's apartment.

"Are we to let him speak or should we just kill him on sight?"

Gibbs smiled grimly.

"We'll let him speak first."

"Very well."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony arrived about twenty minutes later, ready to work. He even had his kit.

"Well, Boss?"

"We're waiting."

"Waiting! For _what_?"

A car pulled through the crowd and stopped in front of the building. A man got out and looked toward them...almost with a smile. He walked toward them.

"What a pleasure to see you all again," Director Levi Carew said to them. "Somehow, I assumed you would beat me here. It's a small world, isn't it."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Your people failed, Carew," Gibbs said angrily. "McGee's gone."

For a moment, Carew's expression hardened...just for a moment his famous shell cracked. Then, it was gone although his tone was slightly heated when he spoke.

"You may have failed to notice, Agent Gibbs, but I lost three men trying to protect one NCIS agent. You may not value the lives of CIA agents, but do open your eyes to something other than yourself. It will make this much easier."

"Easier?" Tony said. "You're to blame for this whole mess and you have the gall to want this to be _easier_?"

"Don't you care about finding Agent McGee?" Carew said.

"Do you know where he is?" Ziva asked, finally.

"No. I don't have the slightest idea."

"Then, why–?"

"However, I doubt we'll make any progress standing out here pointing fingers."

"If you think we're going to step aside and let the _CIA_ run this investigation, you're crazy!" Tony declared.

"I wasn't even going to suggest it."

"What _were_ you going to suggest?" Gibbs asked.

"That we get started," Carew said and walked by them toward the building.

"Get started with what?"

Carew stopped and turned around, smiling his enigmatic smile. "Get started figuring out who has taken Agent McGee, where and for what purpose...with the intended goal of retrieving him and killing those who took him."

"Killing–? Don't you mean _capturing_?"

"I choose my words very carefully, Agent DiNozzo."

"Then, choose some more and explain exactly what you're proposing," Gibbs said.

"That the CIA and NCIS run a joint investigation, headed by you, using _our _vastly superior resources and attempt to find Agent McGee before he is broken or before he is killed."

"Why? So you can take him over again?" Ziva asked.

"No...so that he doesn't reveal anything that he shouldn't reveal. Don't forget that there was a reason he was still being watched by my people. ...and it wasn't because of me. We're wasting time. What is your decision?"

"What if we don't _want_ the help of the CIA?"

"I'm afraid that will be difficult to demand considering CIA agents were killed. The CIA was responsible for his protection, and the CIA Director will not allow NCIS to take full control. We carry quite a bit more weight than you do around Capitol Hill."

Tony and Ziva both began to argue, but Gibbs held up his hand.

"Enough. You're right about one thing, Carew. We're wasting time. Let's just get started and find McGee before it's too late."

"But, Boss!"

"Do you want to delay the investigation just so that NCIS and the CIA can see which has more clout? Do you really think that there's any question who'd win?"

"Excellent deduction, Agent Gibbs. Shall we?"

"Are you going to to get your hands dirty?" Tony asked sarcastically as they headed inside.

"My hands are already blackened, Agent DiNozzo. I run no risk of making them worse," Carew said without looking back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a sudden braking, causing Tim to fly forward into the front of the van, waking him from his slumber. He tried to lever himself upright, but it was hard with his ankles bound and his arms painfully bound behind him. Putting any pressure on them pulled unpleasantly on his muscles and tendons.

It took a little while, but he gradually began to realize that he wasn't alone in the van. Obviously, someone had to be driving, but there were other people in the back of the van, too. He pulled himself around and faced them in silence.

No one spoke as the van sped up again, regaining speeds that made Tim think they must be on the highway.

He was afraid, but he didn't say anything. He didn't move. There were four of them staring darkly at him. He was not among friends.

One of them came over to him, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up to his face.

"You _will_ help us. 'Adnān died to help capture you, and his death will _not _be in vain."

Tim said nothing, afraid that any words he spoke would result in an attack. He wouldn't help them, not if he had any say in the matter...and he did have some, perhaps not all, but some.

Staying silent was the wrong choice. The man backhanded him. Hard. Tim's head knocked against the wall of the van.

"You will help us!" he shouted.

Tim's head was spinning and he tasted blood in his mouth, but he looked up, gathered every bit of courage he had and spoke.

"I will not."

It was the wrong thing to do. The man punched him in the face. Again and again, always on the left side. Driving his head down to the floor of the van over and over. One of the other men joined in the punishment, shouting at Tim in Arabic, words he didn't understand as his face repeatedly made contact with the floor.

The driver shouted back, an obvious command, still in words Tim couldn't understand...although at this point, he probably wouldn't have understood English, let alone any other language.

One man, however, didn't listen...unless the man had been saying that he should hit Tim harder. If so, he did it. He picked Tim up once more and hit him. Tim felt as though his face had exploded. He hit the floor of the van one last time and thanked the incoming blackness for releasing him from the pain...if only for now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

For all the chaos that had obviously reigned in Tim's apartment only a few hours before, it was now silent and somber. Tony and Ziva were going about their routine of gathering evidence, trying hard not to think about the fact that it was Tim they were gathering evidence for. They couldn't blame Carew, not this time. He was off somewhere else with Gibbs, speaking to the surviving agents.

Ducky was there, with Jimmy, taking care of the two men who had died in the attack. The CIA agents had already been removed.

"No I.D. No jewelry. Nothing to indicate an identity," Ducky said softly. "This one... He must be twenty years old if he's a day. So young to die like this."

"Yeah, well, he died trying to kidnap McGee," Tony muttered. "I don't feel much sympathy."

Ducky looked up. "Sympathy? Perhaps not. I think _pity_ is the better word to describe my feelings. I pity this man who threw his life away in such a violent fashion."

"He probably died thinking he would be exalted with his seventy virgins," Tony said, glaring at the dead man.

"Tony, some people may not be as devoted to an ideal as you believe," Ziva said, gently. "Even if we do not think they are right, even if what they do is wrong...that does not require them to be religious fanatics."

"Doesn't matter. I don't care that this guy is dead. I don't care that he's young. I care that McGee is gone and the people who did it were ready for war to get him. That's all I care about. All I want is to get McGee back."

Ducky stood and walked over to where Tony was sealing an evidence bag with unnecessary vigor.

"Anthony, anger is well and good, but leave some room in your heart for pity as well. People make choices they might wish they hadn't made. Timothy could tell you that much."

Tony remained silent and Ducky sighed.

"Mr. Palmer, let's get them home."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said softly. He hadn't spoken much. What was there to say? As he assisted Ducky in transferring the bodies to the bags, he couldn't help thinking about when Tim had appeared in Autopsy, stuffed inside a bodybag alive. He couldn't help remembering the look of sheer terror on Tim's face.

What was he looking like now?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You didn't a good look at them at all?" Carew asked.

"No, sir," Davenport said wearily. "I don't have a clue where they came from. They must have been in the building already. Maybe they were tenants."

"I thought you were checking on the tenants," Gibbs said.

"We did," Carew answered. "A list of all the residents of this building was supplied by the manager and background checks were run. Some people genuinely don't have records, Agent Gibbs. Not even the CIA is all-knowing."

"Could have fooled me," Gibbs said under his breath. "What _did_ you see, Agent Davenport?"

Davenport thought back. He'd been shoved off the fire escape and only barely escaped being shot because he landed in the garbage dumpster. He smelled bad and he obviously ached, but he wasn't even suggesting that he go.

"It's more...more what I don't see now, Agent Gibbs."

"What do you mean?"

Davenport stood up and limped to the sidewalk.

"There should be a van here. A white van without windows. It's been here for the last month. We checked it. Nothing suspicious...but it was registered to one of the tenants. There's also a sedan missing and..." He limped further so that he could see down the other side of the building. "...and another van, not white, marked with the logo of a local electrician, should be over here. It's missing." He sighed. "But I never saw any of them clearly. The smoke. The stun grenade. These guys were prepared. They must have known we were watching."

"How long did it take?"

"From the first smoke grenade to when I knew they were gone? ...maybe ten minutes at most. Probably less. In and out, Agent Gibbs. These were no amateurs. They knew what they wanted and they knew how to get it. I don't doubt that whatever they did next was as well-planned as this was." He looked at Carew. "They were ruthless, sir. No hesitation to kill...and none about leaving their men behind either...but I know they took at least one wounded man away...because I know that at least three got hit, but only two bodies are here."

"That's not bad."

"Agent McGee killed one of them."

Gibbs wondered if Tim would be happy about that. Probably not.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's next return to awareness was when his arms were unexpectedly unbound. One of his captors wrenched them around to the front and rebound them with plastic ties, secured with the backs of his hands touching so that he couldn't try and work at the restraints. Another man placed a length of tape over his mouth.

"You speak. You die," he said menacingly.

Then, before Tim had time to register that the van had stopped, they picked him up and moved him to the back of the van...and into a large-ish wooden crate. They said nothing but instead simply put a lid over top and sealed him inside. Tim was about to panic about having no air, but he noticed two small beams of light on one side. Air holes. He wouldn't suffocate at least.

The crate was lifted and carried. Tim had no idea where he was...but after a few minutes he knew at least the _type_ of business...even if not the location of said business. It was an airport.

There were sounds, soft conversations. It was hard to hear over the roar of engines...until the conversation got a little heated.

"Whoa! Hey, you didn't say _anything_ about cargo! You just wanted transportation! I have to declare cargo."

"You will not."

"If this is illegal stuff...I want a _lot_ more money than you're paying me."

"It is not drugs."

"But it _is_ illegal."

"We will pay you double, but we will not tell you what is in this crate."

A pause.

"All right. All right. Put it in the back."

"No. It must be with us."

"Fine. Just...just get it on before someone sees."

Tim was jostled around and then set on the ground. It seemed like forever but then the plane began to taxi out to the runway. In a strange twisted way, he was reminded of flying out to Montana with Lawrence...not knowing where he was going because there were no windows. Lawrence was a much better travel agent than these guys though.

Tim almost smiled, but it hurt his face too much...and there was too little to smile about.

It seemed impossible, but as the flight began, Tim found himself falling asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This is just wrong! This can't be happening! Not again! Not to Tim! He doesn't _deserve_ this! Hasn't he suffered enough? Haven't enough people tried to ruin his life? Isn't it enough that–?"

"Abby," Gibbs said, breaking off her tirade as if he'd shouted.

Abby stopped and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Tim wasn't happy, Gibbs. ...and now he's gone. How much more can he take?"

"I don't know...but we're going to find him, Abbs. We're going to get him back. This time...this time he won't have to save us. We're going to save him."

Abby nodded and then looked at the samples. "How much of that blood is his?"

"I don't know. Hopefully very little. They want him alive. That's in our favor."

"I don't think it's in Tim's though."

Gibbs couldn't say anything to that. There was too much truth in it to deny.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was jolted awake by the landing, feeling every imprint of every fist on his face. He moaned softly and then listened to the soft voices. There were fewer of them, he thought. Maybe three now instead of six. The plane came to a final stop and the engines powered down. Again, Tim was lifted and moved off the plane. His captors set him on the ground and their voices receded. He waited, trying not to wonder where he was, what they wanted from him. Trying only to think of...of...of something that would make him less afraid.

The faces of his teammates, his friends, popped up in his mind and he almost smiled, thinking of them. Remembering their support of him, their sacrifices on his behalf. Yes, he could almost be happy thinking of them.

"What would they be transporting that couldn't go in cargo?"

A voice...the pilot?

_He's going to open the crate!_ That thought filled Tim with dread, not hope. He knew that if the man did so and they saw him, he would be killed. They couldn't risk any witnesses. Maybe he would die anyway, but certainly if he looked upon the contents of the crate.

"Must be fragile. Expensive. Worth a lot more than they're paying."

_No. No, don't open the crate! Don't open it! Take your money and go!_ Tim shouted silently, willing the man to walk away.

"One peek."

_No! Please, don't!_

A crowbar. The sound of nails squeaking out of their holes. Then, Tim was looking up into the shocked face of a scruffy blond man. His eyes widened.

A shot. He jerked to the side and then fell forward, blood dripping from the hole in his head onto Tim's arms. Tears came to Tim's eyes.

_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry,_ he thought, looking into the man's dead eyes.

Another death. Another man dead because Tim was there...because Tim was important.

He barely noticed when they pulled him out of the crate and shoved him into the trunk of a car. All he could think about was the deaths piling up in his mind.

_How many more will die for me?_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Jenny said in a voice of forced calm. "You are offering the resources of the CIA to help find Agent McGee. ...and you, Agent Gibbs, are _accepting_ his offer of aid?"

"That would be correct, Director Shephard," Carew said smiling.

"Would you wait outside, Director Carew?"

"Of course."

Carew walked out of the office. Jenny waited only until the door was closed.

"Are you out of your mind to be _working_ with Carew? Don't you know how much you could be _risking_ by joining forces with him?"

"No, I'm not out of my mind. Yes, I know what I'm risking...and it's not very much this time around."

"Why not?"

"Because it's all aboveboard. He has every right to demand that he be in on the investigation, just as we have every right to investigate the abduction of our agent. We're doing this all on the level. He can't gain any leverage that way."

"What about McGee?"

"He wouldn't want to owe him, but I don't much care," Gibbs said bluntly. "Whoever took McGee wanted him bad enough to kill for him. Whatever these people are going to do...it won't be pretty and I don't want McGee suffering any more than he has to. He's gone through too much already."

"No under-the-table deals?"

"None. He offered to let us run a join operation. He wants McGee safe...and he wants revenge for the murder of _his _agents. He's working _with_ us this time. I don't like him. I don't want to work with him, but it's the best shot we have of finding McGee...and I'll take it."

"Do you think you will find him?"

"Eventually. Soon enough? I don't know. The only thing I know is that these people did want McGee alive." Gibbs paused. "What are the odds that this was done by someone from one of the other agencies?"

"The odds that they've _thought_ about forcing McGee to work for them are probably pretty high. ...but that they would actually _do_ it? I don't think so, not with the President supporting Tim's status. However, if we do get McGee back..."

"_When_."

"_When_ we get McGee back, they're liable to demand that he be taken out of the public eye completely and hidden away...for his own safety."

"His own safety?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

"I'm telling you what they'll say, Jethro, not what is the truth."

"Are you saying you're not going to try to stop this from happening?"

"No! I want you to be prepared for what you might have to fight against if..._when_ you bring McGee back."

"As long as _you're_ going to fight, too."

"What in the world do you think I've been doing since all this started, Jethro? I do the best I can, but even I have limits to what I can accomplish myself. Now...do you want to keep needling me or let Carew have that privilege?"

Gibbs almost smiled. "I'll let Carew do it...for now."

"Good. Let's get set up in MTAC. I little relish letting him in there, but I'm pretty sure we'll need his access codes if we're going to be working with the CIA."

Gibbs gestured for her to go first and she nodded in resignation.

"Finished talking?" Carew asked.

"Yes. Let's go to MTAC."

"I gave notice to one of my stations to be ready to link up. We'll be able to join our capabilities better that way."

If Jenny and Gibbs were tense, Carew appeared completely relaxed. In control, even though on the surface, he had ceded that control to them.

"I assume that you have issued BOLOs on the cars mentioned by Agent Davenport?"

"Yes," Gibbs said shortly. "Abby is running the samples, and Ducky will send her the DNA so that we can try and get identifications on the dead men."

Carew nodded and gestured grandly. "Ladies first."

Jenny rolled her eyes and walked into MTAC. No matter how quickly they got Tim back and Carew returned to the CIA, it couldn't be fast enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The trunk was hot and stuffy, and Tim's face throbbed with every jolt. He was hungry and thirsty and wished that they would stop driving. He'd already been forced to wet his pants because there had been no bathroom break...at least not for him. There comes a point when voluntary bodily functions become involuntary. That, of course, led to other discomforts, but the increasing throbbing in his face, and the swelling that was slowly making it impossible to see out of his left eye took up more of his attention.

Suddenly, the car came to an abrupt stop, throwing Tim against the front of the trunk. He tried to use his hands to stop himself, but it was hard with the way they were bound. Every position he put them in put an uncomfortable strain on some part of his arms. His left palm was toward his face, his right facing away from him. He could scratch his nose if he wanted. That was pretty much it.

So thirsty. He felt like he didn't even have any spit.

The trunk opened, blinding him with harsh, dusty light.

Speaking to each other in low voices, the men pulled him out of the trunk by his bound limbs. Tim lifted his head enough to see that there was another plane.

_Dry. Dusty. Must be in the south somewhere. Texas, maybe? Arizona? No red rocks. Texas, then?_

This airstrip didn't look exactly _legal_, but he guessed they probably didn't care about that, given their past actions. He tried to keep his head up and see where they were, maybe a signpost or something...but his head felt like a lead balloon and he allowed it to fall back.

They put him on the floor of the plane, still bound. They did give him some water...but that was all. Still, it was enough for the moment. They chained him to the wall of the plane and then he felt the engines roar to life.

Within minutes, they were airborne again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Got a hit on one of the BOLOs, Boss!" Tony said. "The electrician's van was spotted...at the electrician's shop."

Ziva stopped them before they could run out. "There is also a hit on the missing sedan. It has been found empty in Kensington."

Gibbs paused and then looked over at Carew. "You're actually working on this one?"

"If necessary."

"Good. You come with me. We'll check the van." He pointed at Tony and Ziva. "You two go and get the sedan."

"Right, Boss."

"Let's roll."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim wedged himself against the wall of the plane, trying to minimize the jostling. Already, the vibrations seemed to have got inside his head and were playing a painful drumbeat on his skull. He clenched his teeth together to stop the moans from getting out, but tears began trickling down his cheeks from the pain in his face. ...although that wasn't the only pain he was feeling.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't like the idea of Gibbs working alone with Carew. Sneaky little..."

"He will not harm Gibbs," Ziva said, cutting him off.

"How would you know that, Officer David?"

"Because Carew is not that kind of man."

"Oh really? What about McGee?"

"He has not ever hurt McGee."

"What?"

Ziva looked out the window, not at Tony. "He has not ever hurt McGee. He has used McGee. He has _protected_ him. He has forced McGee to do things he did not want to do. He has taken advantage of the situations created by others. ...but he has not hurt McGee."

"So what? We should give him a medal?"

"No!" Ziva looked over as Tony stopped at a light. "I do not like Carew. I hate him. I wish him gone, but he is not the problem. He is part of the solution. Like him or not..."

"Not."

Ziva smiled involuntarily. "...we need him. I am willing to do what is necessary to find McGee...even work with Carew to do so. I do not believe he will betray us."

"I'm not so sure. He would do it in a heartbeat if he thought it would help him."

"He wants McGee back. He believes we can do that; otherwise, he would not have allowed us to be in charge."

"There it is," Tony said tonelessly. "The sedan. I don't think we'll find anything here."

"No, nor do I. They left them on purpose."

"Yeah. Still...orders are orders."

"Yes, they are."

The car came to a stop.

"I only hope that it will help us find McGee."

"Yeah."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They spoke in low voices to each other, not in English. Tim strained to hear them. After all the chaos the year before, he had tried to learn some Arabic. It wasn't standing him in very good stead at the moment, however. He could pick up one word in fifty. If that.

He was afraid. The fact that they were taking all this time to get him to a certain destination meant that they were in this for the long haul. They were going to do what it took to break him, no matter how long he resisted. ...and Tim knew he couldn't resist forever. He guessed that he could resist longer than they thought he could...but not forever. Everyone had their breaking point.

A sudden heavy jolt of the plane rammed Tim's head onto the floor. Thankfully, it was the right side of his head rather than the broken left side, but still it caused a whimper to escape his lips.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you expect to find here, Agent Gibbs?"

"Nothing. If we're lucky maybe a fingerprint."

"I see."

Neither of them spoke. Gibbs tended toward taciturn and Carew felt no reason to speak. It made for a quiet car ride. When they arrived at the electrician's shop, they both drew their guns as they got out of the car. ...but it was for nothing. The electrician was there, had been verified and he let them take a look at the van. He said it wasn't his. It _looked_ like his, but it wasn't his van.

"I swear, Agent Gibbs. I know the number of vans belonging to me and while this van appears to be mine. It's not."

"The license plate checks out to you," Carew said.

Gibbs actually felt like doing a double-take. Carew's voice had totally changed. It was like he had shape-shifted into a regular cop. The voice itself was the same, but the timber was different, the amount of time he spent shaping each word. He had adapted to the circumstance...and seemed vaguely likeable...if you didn't know what a jerk he was.

"But look over here!" The electrician pointed across the parking lot. "I already _have_ the truck with that plate! It's right here. That must be a fake!"

"Then, we can take it with us?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, please. I don't care."

"What about security video?" Carew asked.

"You can have copies if you think it will help. One of the lights is out in this area and you won't be able to see very many details."

"Thank you."

They got what they needed, arranged for transfer to NCIS Headquarters and then got back in the car.

"Tell me, Carew, do you plan on being a part of the entire investigation?"

"Like this, you mean? No. I do have an agency to run. I'll keep myself informed, but I would like to have one or two of my people working with your team. Would that be tolerable for you?"

The voice had changed back to the serpentine smooth tone. Was either one his "real" voice? How did he speak when he was with someone he cared about? Did he have anyone like that? Who knew.

"I would wager that, given past experiences, you probably don't want to work with the agents you already know. Alexis/Tara/Kristine...or whatever other name she has decided to use is out on assignment in any case, and I rather doubt that you would care to work with Kort."

"No."

"Agent Andrews, then? He's new with the agency, and rather gung-ho about getting justice for Geoff Banta, who was killed trying to save Agent McGee."

"I don't need someone with a vendetta."

"Oh, not a vendetta. He's still new enough that he wants to do everything exactly right. Rather like your Agent McGee, although without the excellent hacking skills."

"We don't need him to hack."

"Most likely not. Well?"

"Send him over. We'll send him back if he doesn't cut it."

Carew smiled. "Oh, he'll cut it. Whether or not you'll _accept_ that he does is another matter."

Gibbs had never met someone whose entire goal seemed to be to get under other people's skin. Friend, ally, or enemy. It didn't matter.

Working with him really was almost like making a deal with the devil. You never knew just what the payment would be. It could end up _being_ your soul.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The plane landed for a while. Tim guessed that it was for refueling, but he didn't bother trying to find out. He felt a major sense of relief that the plane wasn't vibrating and wasn't jolting. The throbbing in his face began to ebb. He was lying on his right side, back to the wall of the plane, facing his captors. The plane wasn't very big, but it had the look of a cargo plane that had been remodeled to carry passengers...not that he was counting himself in that. He was cargo. The only thing they hadn't done was put that webbing stuff on him, contenting themselves with chaining him to the wall.

Some got off the plane, leaving Tim almost alone. One man was left. Tim recognized him as the man who had become so angry at him before. He stood up and walked over. He grabbed Tim's shirt and pulled him up.

"Do not look at me."

"I...I wasn't," Tim said, embarrassed that his voice was so timid.

"You were looking at me. Do not insult me by putting your gaze on me."

Tim didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't sure if he should look away to obey him or keep looking at him now to show he was paying attention. More than likely, regardless of what he chose, he would do the wrong thing.

He was right. The man began shouting at him, slipping back into Arabic again, shaking him violently until someone else came onto the plane, also shouting in Arabic. The shaking continued as the two men began struggling, one trying to make the other let Tim go.

"Nahtāj ilayhi hay."

Finally, the shaking stopped and Tim fell to the floor when the man deigned to let him go. He stalked away, muttering under his breath. The other man looked at Tim with disgust.

"You killed his brother. When you are no longer useful, I will give you to him."

Tim swallowed but didn't say anything. Then, the man bent down and whispered in his ear.

"That is not a threat. It is a promise."

That meant death was the only way out. Fine. Tim could accept that. Resist until they got tired of trying and die.

Better that than letting anyone else die for him.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The next time they landed...a very long time later...Tim was carted off the plane and tossed into a truck. There was a cover over it, but Tim could see out and it was very bright. Uncomfortably so. They began to drive, stopping only once. There was a short conversation and then they drove again.

An abrupt stop and then they pulled him out of the truck. ...and onto a boat. The telltale rocking made him nauseous. It didn't help that he was already woozy from the plane vibrations and that his face was still throbbing. ...and it was hot. Muggy, though.

_Where am I?_

He had the sense not to say anything, but he also noticed (through his one eye) that the man who seemed to hate him the most was being kept away. He had no illusions that this would continue to be the case.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So we have absolutely, positively _nothing_," Tony burst out angrily. "We have no fingerprints from the car, no fingerprints from the electrician's van. No suspects. No evidence except two dead bodies down in Autopsy! How can this be happening _again_?"

"What about the other van?" Andrews asked tentatively. "The one that Agent Davenport said was missing."

Ziva sighed. "No sign of it so far. If it is in the Metro area, it has been well-hidden."

Tony suddenly lost his anger. "Why are we assuming that it _is_ in the Metro area? There's no reason to assume that. If these people went to all this trouble to abduct McGee, then we shouldn't be thinking they're sticking around to get caught."

Ziva nodded. "Yes. Why did we not think of this before? We should–"

"Extend the BOLO to all of Maryland and Virginia...at least. Where would they go?"

"Anywhere they want. We can't know where they'd go if we don't know why they want him."

"Isn't that pretty obvious, though?" Andrews asked.

"Obvious?" Tony asked, glaring at him.

"Agent McGee has been under CIA surveillance for years because of what he knows...whatever that is. These people must know that. Why else would they be trying to get him? I mean...he's an NCIS agent."

Tony raised an eyebrow and Andrews flushed.

"What I mean is...well...NCIS...it isn't well-known. People don't think of NCIS when they think of people with sensitive information, right?"

Ziva relented first. "Oh, Tony. Do not intimidate him. It is true. To imagine that this would not be because of McGee's experiences is not...not smart."

"What I don't get is how they know. I mean, _I_ don't even know what it is Agent McGee can do. I just am on surveillance duty. No one gets told. So...how would they know what Agent McGee could do?" He looked at them both with genuine confusion, as unlike Carew as night and day. He really didn't know.

Suddenly, Tony felt as though his vision had tunneled...as he realized just how these people must have found out about Tim, who he was, what he could do. He felt Ziva's hand on his arm and knew that she had come to the same conclusion.

Tony swore and in a rush of self-loathing kicked his desk. "How could I have been so stupid!"

"Tony!"

He whirled around and looked at Ziva. "What other explanation could there be, Ziva? It was me!"

"You do not _know_ that!"

"Yeah..." Tony laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, I think we do. How else could they have known who McGee was and what he could do?"

"We do not know who has him; so we cannot know for certain!"

Andrews had been forgotten. He stood looking at them, not having the slightest idea of what to say.

"We know, Ziva. We know," Tony repeated. He paused for a moment and then spoke again. "Instead of trying to make me feel any better...why don't we use this to help find McGee?"

Ziva saw the pain in Tony's eyes but she nodded regretfully. Tony was right. There were few other options, and this was so likely that it had to be pursued. She remembered what had happened, what Tony had said...and why.

_The man came back in with a glowing brand. He walked over to Ziva and held it above one of the wounds on her arm. He brought it down and Ziva was suddenly screaming._

"_Stop!" Tony screamed over the sound. "We were looking for someone, but he wasn't there!"_

_The leader stared at Tony for a few seconds and then gestured. The brand was removed. Ziva's eyes opened, streaming tears, and she looked at Tony, shaking her head weakly._

"_Just stop," he said. "He's a member of our team. We were looking for him, but he wasn't there. Okay?"_

And then Tony had proceeded to answer their questions about who Tim was...and they had made a phone call, according to Tim, probably the same phone call that had allowed him to track them down. Maybe they could use Tony's moment of betrayal to save Tim and return the favor he had done for them.

Maybe this could allow them to find the men who had taken Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt ill and in agony the entire time they kept him on the boat. Again, all they gave him was water. Every time the brother of the man he'd killed walked by, he would kick Tim...no particular location, just whatever was closest to him at the time. The first time Tim cringed just at his approach, he laughed.

"You are not very tough now," he said with disdain.

Tim moved his head around so that his right eye could look at his captor.

"You're...really tough. Kicking someone tied up. Real strong guy. I'll bet they sing songs of your courage."

Another mistake. The man kicked him. Hard. Tim got the wind knocked out of him and gasped for air until his paralyzed diaphragm deigned to work again. He lay on the floor until they reached land a few hours later.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_You realize, of course, that this can never leave MTAC. Ever. These groups succeed only because they are completely covert. No one knows about them. They get no glory, no praise...and that keeps them alive."_

Jenny looked at the MCRT and then at Carew. "We understand, Mr. President."

"_Good."_ The president nodded to someone off screen and the image shifted. He was replaced by a man with a long narrow scar down one side of his face, but he seemed friendly enough.

"_Hi. You're the NCIS folks?"_

"That's right. You heard about Agent McGee?"

The man seemed genuinely concerned. _"Yeah. I'd hoped that he was safe now. What do you need from us?"_

Carew stepped in. "The GIA."

The man looked to the side. _"Amin."_

He was joined by another man, darker skinned.

"_You think the GIA has him?"_

"Is it a possibility?" Jenny asked.

"_In terms of their current status?"_ Amin asked. "_Probably. None of us are kidding ourselves that we got them all last year. We broke up one of their main bases in Texas a couple of months ago, but even that wasn't all of them."_

"_But there's the problem of them knowing about McGee. From what I understand, those who might have known anything specific about him are all dead. How did they find out?"_

Tony looked at the floor for a moment and then looked at the screen. "I told them. Last year. When they were holding us. They had a chance to report on what I said."

A moment of silence but no indication of recriminations. Amin just nodded.

"_If that's the case, then, they're a distinct possibility."_

"_How distinct?"_

"_They'd get a hold of him if they knew anything about what McGee was capable of, what he knew...and he knows a lot, just in terms of general operations being done by various agencies. I think half our intel over the past year has come from work he's done."_

"He has done so much?" Ziva asked in surprise.

"_Oh, yeah. I don't how much _time_ it's taken him, but he's definitely in on a lot of work."_

Gibbs stepped in. "Do you have any idea where they might have taken him? Any indication of activity from this group?"

Amin considered for a moment. _"Hey, Sam! Get me that communique from last week! Lawrence, you remember?"_

Lawrence looked at him for a moment and then his eyes opened wide and he smacked himself on the forehead. _"Of course! It makes so much sense now! We're such idiots!"_

"What?" Carew asked.

"_We intercepted a message last week indicating movements, coming out into the open. We were assuming it was going to be another al-Qaida message or perhaps some minor proofs of their continued existence. They haven't been able to do much lately because they're on our radar again."_

"_It didn't have any of the earmarks of another attempted bombing or terrorist attack,"_ Amin said. _"These guys are really careful and they don't want to ruin their chances."_

"Would you be willing to send us what you know about them?" Jenny asked. "It will stay here in MTAC, but we need to find him sooner rather than later."

"_Carew?"_ Lawrence asked.

Carew smiled slightly. "I promise it will stay here."

Lawrence looked out of the shot again. _"Xandra! You have the IP?"_

"_You don't even know what that means, Lawrence. I have them in my sights. You want me to send it all?"_

Lawrence rolled his eyes. _"She's really a very nice person...somewhere deep inside. Yeah, send it all to them."_

"_Done."_

Jenny looked over at one of the technicians. He gave a thumbs up.

"Thank you."

Amin shook his head. _"No. Just find him...before he gives up. I had a lot of time to talk with Tim when we worked with him. ...it made me wish I'd known him before all this started. He must have been a really nice guy."_

"He is a nice guy now," Ziva said with some heat.

"_Yeah...but that's often hidden under everything else. It would have been nice to see him when he wasn't afraid of himself."_

They didn't have time to ask about that comment.

"_Lawrence! Got a bogey here!"_

Lawrence looked off the other direction. _"You got what you need?"_

"Download complete, ma'am."

"Yes. Thank you."

"_Good. I hope you find him. Sorry, to have to run, but unfortunately, McGee can't be our problem. We have too many others. Signing off."_

The image cut out.

Gibbs knew they all wanted to ask about Tim being afraid of himself, but he couldn't let that take precedence over finding Tim and getting him back.

"Tony, Ziva...get started on that stuff. I'll put Andrews on the BOLO. We're extending it to the entire East Coast."

"I'd better get back to my own agency. Let me know what turns up. If you don't someone else will," Carew said and walked out.

"Must he always make requests into threats?" Ziva asked. "We have not tried to keep things from him."

"Just reminding us that he's a jerk," Tony said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs said.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"You are not allowed to feel guilty about this. Wait until we get him back."

Tony had the grace to smile a little. "Yeah, Boss."

"You hear me?"

"Yeah, Boss. I hear you."

"Good. Get started."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The only form of transportation he hadn't been on was a train, Tim decided. Every transfer was rough and painful. The kicks, the jostling didn't bother him so much as the unending throbbing in his face. His left eye was swollen completely shut. He had no vision on that side. Something must be broken, but he didn't know enough human anatomy to be able to tell what exactly had fractured in his face. All he knew was that it hurt. A lot.

They transferred him to the back of another truck...and they set off again on a bouncing, clattering ride. It seemed to last forever. The sun went down, giving him some measure of relief from the choking, dusty heat. At this point, he'd take what he could get as they continued to travel. He couldn't believe they hadn't come back to where they'd started by now. It felt as though he'd been traveling for ages. Planes, cars, trucks, a boat. What was next?

Almost as if in response to his thought, the truck slowed down, turned sharply to the left and drove for only a few more minutes before coming to a stop. Tim was so relieved to have the vibrations end that he didn't even care when they grabbed him once more and dragged him out of the truck.

He got a look around him...and saw nothing to tell him where he was, other than in a desert. That desert could be anywhere. The buildings he saw in the darkness were large and decaying. That was all he had time to see before they grabbed him and dragged him into one of the buildings, through the dusty hallways and into a cell. They dropped him onto the floor. He landed on his face because his arms were still bound behind him. He felt a small stream of blood flow from his nose. He tried not to make a sound. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"We will start with simple things. Things that you and I both know," the man said softly. "If you help us, I promise that we will kill you quickly. If you refuse, then you will live for a very long time."

"Sounds great," Tim forced himself to say as he struggled to get onto his back. He wanted to face his captors, not hide from them.

"Your name?"

Tim laughed and tried to wipe the blood from his nose onto his shirt. He half-succeeded.

"Boy, that's really a shame if you don't even know who you kidnapped. You're in bigger trouble than I thought."

The man gestured and one of his compatriots grabbed Tim, pulled him over to a chair, tied him to it and then knocked it to the floor, leaving Tim lying on his back, his feet toward his captors.

"Have you heard of _falaqa_?" the man asked.

"No."

"Now, you have." He gestured.

The man picked up a long metal bar and swung it at the soles of Tim's feet.

Tim couldn't help it. He tried, but he couldn't.

He screamed.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Two days later..._

The sun was almost below the horizon. It had been another hot day although tolerable. Those who were living in the small complex of buildings didn't even look up when the faint screams echoed through the area. One man detached himself from a group and followed the sound which grew louder as he got closer. When he reached the cell, he saw the metal bar swing at the prisoner's feet again. He screamed, although his voice was getting hoarse now.

"What is your name?"

The screams faded away, leaving only the sound of gasping. No words.

"Your name."

"Bite me." The voice was shaky and almost unintelligible, even in English.

"Very well."

The metal bar was employed once more. Jubran smiled and swung it at the soles of the prisoner's feet. He screamed. Twice more, Jubran beat the man's feet, each time wringing shrieks of pain from him.

Naji watched for a few minutes, not wanting to interrupt, and then tapped Syed's shoulder. He looked at him and nodded.

"We will continue later," he said and then followed Naji to get the report on activity in the desert around them. Unsettled and barren it might be, but some people did not let that stop them from dwelling there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent DiNozzo! Officer David!" Andrews came running into MTAC.

"What is it?" Ziva asked.

"We found the van! It's in Virginia! I looked for Agent Gibbs, but I couldn't find him. Are we going to go and look at it?"

Tony laughed and rubbed his eyes. He felt as though they'd been sifting through this material for weeks, not two days.

"Yes. We will need to go and look at it."

"I told them to leave it as it was and we'd be there. Was that right?"

"Yes, Agent Andrews. Why don't you...go and gas up the car? We'll be down."

Ziva watched him leave and groaned. "I hope this is a real break and not another wild goose chase. We need to know something more about these people than we do now. We need to know _where_ they are, not just _who_ they are."

"We have to start somewhere, Ziva," Tony said. He'd found a kind of even keel over the past day and was just letting things happen as they could, rather than the frenetic activity of the first day Tim had been missing. For now, it was more important to find Tim and bring him back than it was to feel guilty. Guilt would come, particularly if Tim was badly hurt, but Tony had managed to shove all that away...for now.

"Tony?"

"Coming. Let's hope this is the real McCoy."

"I will assume that means something positive and agree."

"It is."

They headed out of MTAC and met Agent Andrews and Gibbs at the car. Then, they headed toward Virginia.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wa al-ān?" Syed asked.

"Sahirnā tiwāl al-nahār."

"Mā ra'akum?"

"Thillun faqat," Naji said softly, pointing northward.

Another scream was heard from inside.

"Akthar min thālika?"

"La. Thillu faqat."

Syed shook his head. He was worried about intruders. This area was generally left alone, but one never knew.

"Thalla mutayaqqithan."

"Na'am, ya ustāth!"

Another scream. Syed sighed. Jubran enjoyed his task just a little too much sometimes. He would have to go and get him to stop. For now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

Andrews eagerly stepped up. "The officer over there found it abandoned this morning while doing a routine check. There was no one inside...he thought. But then he decided to look around and make sure there weren't any...uh...shenanigans going on."

"Shenanigans?" Tony asked.

"That's what he said," Andrews answered with a slight smile. "Anyway, he found the body over there."

"Body?" Gibbs repeated.

"You said nothing about a body."

"That's because he only found it after reporting in. The guys who reported on the BOLO didn't tell me! Their ME is looking right now."

Gibbs sighed. "Call Ducky, Ziva. Tony, get them to stop contaminating the crime scene."

"I'm sorry, sir," Andrews said earnestly. "I didn't know!"

"Don't call me sir. Let's just get over to the van."

"Yes...sir...uh... What do I call you instead?"

"Can't you pronounce Gibbs, Agent Andrews?"

"I can."

"There you go." He stalked over to the van and opened it up. "Have you ever processed a crime scene before, Agent Andrews?"

"I learned procedures but I've never done it when it mattered."

"All right. Let's get going. Document everything. Don't touch it until you've documented where it is and its position. You never know what will be important later on."

"Yes, sir...uh...Agent Gibbs."

They began to check the van. As the officer had reported, there was no one inside...but there obviously _had_ been. There was quite a bit of blood in one section and a lesser amount in another area. They took samples of both. Fibers and hairs, anything that might tell them who had been there, who had been left behind.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"I was talking with Officer Patrick over there and he said that he didn't notice any other tracks besides the van. Not many people drive on this road and the guy who owns the land near here is on vacation, apparently. So...it looks like our dead guy is probably the one who brought it out here."

"Jethro, I hope this is to be a valuable trek," Ducky called as he and Jimmy headed down the slight incline toward the van.

"I hope so, too, Duck. Body's over there."

Gibbs led the way to the grassy space now marred by blood and a corpse.

"Well, my first guess would be suicide, but I will be sure not to leap to conclusions."

"Any other injuries?"

"Patience, Jethro," Ducky said. "I want to find Timothy as much as you do, but rushing will not help."

Gibbs subsided, albeit reluctantly. He watched as Ducky tutted over the body, the trampled grass.

"Rigor mortis has passed. Lividity is complete. It appears that this man has been dead for more than two days, Jethro. Judging by the decomposition, he has been out here and does not appear to have been moved."

"Looks like the bugs have been enjoying him," Jimmy said.

"Yes, Mr. Palmer. Would you mind helping me get this young man back to NCIS?" Ducky asked.

Jimmy swallowed. "Inappropriate?"

"Mistimed, perhaps. Let's go."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A shadow detached itself from one of the dunes and began to run through the desert. Even at night, caution was necessary, but he had a lifetime of practice. There were people encroaching on his territory. That required a report and then planning to make sure the interlopers were...removed. No one was allowed to just waltz into this area without permission, particularly not if they planned on staying. No, the boundaries weren't laid out. In this world of shifting sand, a line wouldn't last. However, everyone knew who owned this land. To have their ownership and their rights ignored was an insult. One that would be repaid in spades.

A camel was waiting patiently. It grumbled at him as he leapt onto its back and started it moving, but it did as requested. It would take time, but they would drive them out.

...using whatever means necessary.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The door slammed closed and Tim began to cry. They hadn't hit him with anything other than that bar for what seemed like an eternity. His feet were two swollen lumps of sheer agony. How long would they keep this up? How long could he stand it? He didn't know. He knew nothing but that he couldn't give in and that he would. He knew only the pain and the fact that even this torture wasn't enough to make him do what they wanted. He didn't even know what it was exactly. He only knew that whatever they wanted, he couldn't give it to them.

The only good thing about the pain in his feet was that it had momentarily distracted him from the continued throbbing in his face. He had absolutely no vision on the left side. His eye was swollen closed. He didn't know what that meant beyond that it was probably bad.

As he lay on the ground, he suddenly had a thought: which was worse? This current torture, this _falaqa_ or the electrical burns and the atropine from the beginning of this horror ride? He couldn't decide; both were bad.

Then, he heard a buzzing sound. He hadn't noticed it before because of the pain and because of his crying. A fly landed on his face. He blew at it and it flew away. ...and then returned again, crawling over his cheek, up to his right eye. He shook his head and then whimpered at the pain that caused. The fly flew away...and came back...with friends. After an hour or two of the buzzing, he managed to catch two in his mouth and crush them just to get them to stop. He spat the bodies out but couldn't get rid of the disgusting sensation. He smashed another with his chin in a very lucky move. This would drive him crazy a lot faster than the atropine had if he got an invasion of flies.

The door opened.

"What is your name?"

Tim forced a laugh. "What is your quest?" he asked in a fake British accent.

"Excuse me?"

"What is the airspeed velocity of a coconut-laden swallow?"

Tim figured Tony would be proud of him for pulling that out of the air...and for being sarcastic to people who were going to hurt him. He closed his eye as he saw his silent captor heft the metal bar again.

He didn't see him swing. He felt the impact and he screamed. Then, there was a pause. He opened his eye...just in time to see the bar fly again. He couldn't believe that no bones were broken...but he supposed that was why...

The next impact seemed to have the power to drive all thought out of his head and he screamed again.

"What is your name?"

Tim wanted to answer. He really did. He wanted to give this man whatever he wanted. He wanted to get rid of the pain. He wanted it. He really did. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to help this horrible person just so that the agony would end. He wanted to answer.

"You...are...such a broken...record," he said with a sob.

Again.

He screamed.

And again.

He screamed again.

"Your name."

"Go...look it up...yourself."

Again.

Scream.

Again.

Scream.

"Your name."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well?"

"Suicide looks to be the correct cause of death, Jethro," Ducky said. "At least there is nothing on his body which would indicate someone else holding the gun, nor can I find any indication of him being forced."

"Suicide."

"Yes. It would appear so. That means that this young man drove the truck to its final destination and then killed himself."

"Why?"

"Devotion to his cause, I would guess. That means more than a simple crime, which we already knew, but it's nice to have the confirmation."

"That's why you called me down here?"

"No, Jethro. I wanted to show you something."

"What?"

Ducky gestured for Gibbs to join him by the body and he pointed to the feet.

"You see these scars, Jethro?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, look at the x-rays. This young man's feet were beaten...to the point that it broke the bones."

"Torture?"

"It looks that way. Foot whipping is a common enough practice in the Middle East and in China. ...but this level of ferocity indicates a desire to do more than extract information. He was targeted by someone for punishment."

"Us or them?"

Ducky shrugged. "I couldn't venture to guess. He seems to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He could have been tortured by any one of a number of groups, I'm sorry to say. Without knowing who he was and where he was from, determining who is to blame will be difficult...particularly since I doubt that anyone will claim responsibility. However, if it _was_ someone he _perceived_ as being one of us that could explain his willingness to be a martyr to his cause. He would have learned the hard way of the evils of the West. ...or the corruption of his own people."

"Thanks, Ducky."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't give you more, Jethro. I'm afraid that there are limits."

"There always are."

"We just have to keep trying. Something will be revealed."

"In time for it to do any good?"

"I don't know. I can only hope."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three days later..._

"We already know who you are and where you work. Why will you not just tell me what I already know? It will be easier for you."

Tim coughed in the sand that had swirled into his throat and didn't bother to answer. He had screamed so much that he couldn't really make a lot of noise now anyway. He couldn't think of any wry quips. He was just trying to survive...because that was all he could do.

"Jubran."

Tim's eye closed in despair.

This time, he even heard the whisper of the bar moving through the air. It hit the arch of his feet with a force that actually caused the chair to which he was strapped to shift slightly.

"You will run out of resistance long before I run out of patience."

"That's what you think," Tim whispered.

"That is what I know. Jubran. Again."

There were no more tears. He couldn't find the energy to produce them. The pain surged from his feet all the way through his body...like flames consuming him over and over again.

Neverending torment. He knew that was what awaited him and he struggled to find a reason to resist. Any reason at all. There had to be a reason.

An image welled up in his mind of Tony, Ziva...of Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy. Jenny and Cynthia, all those people who had been there, who had sacrificed so much for him...who would be torn apart by guilt if they found him dead. He had to fight for them.

Even though he felt no strength for it, Tim vowed to keep fighting, no matter how weakly, for as long as he could.

"Again."

No matter what.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Boss, there is nothing else to find out here!" Tony said in frustration. "We checked every house, every barn, every single place that could possibly hide a human being and there's _nothing_! It's like McGee...just...just vanished! Why would they bring the van here? There's nothing out here!"

Then, Tony's eye caught a small plane circling for a landing.

"Nothing...except..." He pointed.

Gibbs turned. "An airport."

"Boss...what if..." Tony couldn't even finish as the area they needed to search began to balloon astronomically.

Ziva gestured from the car. "Gibbs, Abby is on the phone and she says she has something important!"

Gibbs paused briefly to get Tony to walk with him, and headed to the car. Tony could barely notice anything outside of the sudden fear that had gripped him. He could see, in his mind's eye, the entire globe opened up as a place where Tim could have been taken.

"Tony."

Tony shook himself and nodded as Gibbs put the phone on speaker.

"What is it, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"_Hey, Gibbs...Agent Andrews and I were going through the van and...well...the blood is Tim's, some of it. Some of the other blood isn't, but I could only type it. I couldn't figure out whose it was. Other than that...I've got nothing from it."_

"That's why you called?"

"_No! That's not why I called! I called because we had an idea!"_

"_Sorry, Agent Gibbs. We did try–"_

"_Don't interrupt me, Agent Andrews!"_ Abby said.

"Abby, focus, please."

"_Sorry, Gibbs. I was thinking... This whole thing with Tim is so weird that maybe there are other weird things going on that might be linked to it."_

"Weird things?" Tony asked. "Like what?"

"_Like murders that don't have any real explanation. I know that there are lots of murders all over the country, Tony, so don't tell me that. I decided that there must be something to explain why we haven't found any sign of Tim. So...I focused on airports. There are lots of places they could take Tim if the van wasn't really a sign of their final destination...and Agent Andrews had a great idea. Didn't you, Agent Andrews?"_

They heard a nervous throat-clearing.

"_Oh, fine. I'll tell him. Agent Andrews said that if the cars were abandoned here in DC to throw us off, maybe the van was, too. So...I started looking around, and I put Agent Andrews on search duty...once I explained to him how it worked. He didn't know."_

"_Sorry, Agent Gibbs. I haven't really–"_

"_Shush!"_

"Abby!"

"_Okay, okay. So, we did a search of strange crimes at airports...and guess what!"_

"You got a hit."

"_Exactly! Of course...it took ages, but we still got one!"_

"Where?" Tony asked.

"_At a little airport in Texas. A man was found...stuffed inside a crate! There was blood in the crate that didn't belong to him, but the samples were all contaminated from the guy's blood. So...they were thinking that it was probably drug related, but they didn't have any suspects. Guess where his private plane originated?"_

"Virginia?"

"_Gibbs! How do you _do_ that?"_

"Who is this guy?"

"_Sending all the information to you e'en as we speak."_

"E'en?" Tony asked.

_Thwack!_

"Sorry, Boss."

"Anything else, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"_One thing."_

"What?"

Abby's voice changed. _"Please, find him."_

Gibbs met Tony's gaze. "We will."

"_Okay. I'll get back to work."_

"Agent Andrews?"

"_Yes, Agent Gibbs?"_

"I want you to get on the phone to your boss and tell him we're going to be needing a plane."

"_To...to Texas, sir?"_

"Yes."

"_When?"_

"It had better be ready by the time we get back to DC."

"_Yes...sir...I mean, Agent Gibbs."_

Gibbs smiled and hung up.

"Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Your name."

Tim kept his working eye closed and tried to remember to keep breathing. They had kicked him a few times, but finding that less effective, they had returned to the _falaqa_.

"Your name."

He could hear himself hyperventilating. He inhaled some dust and had to cough to get it out of his throat. He couldn't stand this anymore. He couldn't take it. It hurt too much.

"Jubran."

"Timothy McGee!" he shouted in desperation. "My name is Timothy McGee. Timothy McGee. Timothy McGee."

"Jubran."

"Please. Please. No more. Timothy McGee. That's my name." Tim began to weep.

"Jubran...give him some water."

Tim barely heard, but the part of him that did comprehend the words his captor had spoken laughed in triumph. This would give him time to recover and face more of the torture. Outwardly, however, he let the part of him that was weak and broken whimper and choke on the water that was forced into his mouth. A tooth was chipped by the canteen, but Tim hardly cared. Water was much more important than a measly chipped tooth.

"That is enough, Jubran."

They left him alone. It was a relief. Tim began to regather his resistance. There was a risk in telling them anything at all because the obvious positive reinforcement (and negative reinforcement) left the weak part of him wanting to keep talking just to prevent any further pain. He would have to resist as long as possible and then answer the surface questions as slowly as he could. With any luck, he'd be dead before he could be of any real use to them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, I love this plane," Tony said. "Comfy seats. Easy boarding policy. You guys have it nice at the CIA."

Ziva smiled at Tony's bravado. He was trying so hard to act normally when it was clear to everyone that this was tearing him apart. Agent Andrews looked determined but incredibly nervous. She wondered how in the world he had ended up at the CIA when it seemed as though he would be better suited somewhere else...anywhere else.

Then, her mind drifted to Tim. He must have been a lot like this at the beginning...before she had met him. From what Tony had said and gleefully related, Tim had been the epitome of green...in more ways than one, at their first meeting.

"I've...never been on this plane. It's...It's Director Carew's plane," Agent Andrews said, almost in a whisper, looking terrified at the prospect.

"Even better," Tony said and closed his eyes. "About time we got some of the good stuff from the CIA."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They landed two hours later and immediately met with the Rangers assigned to investigating the case. Any thought Tony might have had about making fun of the Ranger who met them was quickly dispelled by his professional and brisk demeanor.

"You're the guys looking into the Gasque murder?" he asked them.

"How did you know?" Tony asked.

"You're not Texans," he said with a slight smile. "I'm Ranger David Walker." He paused. "And no, I don't know any karate or whatever it is that Chuck Norris does."

Andrews laughed and then flushed when they looked at him. "My...My dad used to watch that show."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "What can you tell us?"

"Not much."

"More now, Dave!"

Ranger Walker looked back over his shoulder. "What is it, Luke?"

"They found the sedan!"

"You want to come with?" he asked Gibbs and company.

"Absolutely."

"All right. Come on, then."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two men conferred in quiet voices. There was no light from above, not even from the moon. They would have looked like they fit in an earlier era...except for the small electronic device which cast a dim light up onto their faces. It was shielded from the desert in the hopes of keeping their location from being discovered.

The conversation was short.

"They are still there?"

"No sign that they will leave on their own."

"Shamal?"

One of the men smiled. "Soon. The charts predict it. The air feels right."

"Good. We will plan."

They ran off across the dunes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They gathered around the abandoned sedan.

"This car was picked up on the cameras leaving from the general area where the murder took place," Walker said. "We put a BOLO out on it, but just got the sighting. What is it that you're expecting to find here?"

Gibbs crouched down by the tires. "A clue about where one of my team was taken. He was abducted from DC over a week ago. We traced him to an abandoned van about a mile away from the Falwell airport in Virginia. Gasque took off from there the day after McGee was abducted. I don't believe in coincidences."

"Neither do I...and Gasque's death had nothing to do with drugs."

"How do you know that?" Ziva asked.

"Because, for one thing, we didn't find a single trace of drugs on the plane or in the crate. Whatever was being moved...it wasn't drugs. Even the best packed bags will leave traces. Gasque was known to have connections with the drug trade, but he's small fry. Not worth killing, certainly not like he was. It was too professional. Gasque wasn't worth that."

"What now, Boss? We're stuck again."

"Maybe not," Walker said. "There's a...a clandestine airstrip not too far from here. It's sometimes used by drug runners. We try to keep our eye on it, but we don't catch people very often. It could be where they were taking your man."

Gibbs looked at the sedan and then followed Walker's pointing finger out into the desert.

"Sir? Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked over at Andrews.

"Yes?"

"I...I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"I probably shouldn't talk about it out here. Too public."

"You CIA, son?" Walker asked.

"How did you know?"

Walker laughed at him. "You're trying too hard to be secret. Let it be more natural."

Andrews flushed.

"Don't worry. I can see when I'm not wanted. Why don't you all have a little secret meeting and let me know when you're ready to leave." He tipped his hat and walked off to consult with the other Rangers on the scene.

"What is it, Andrews?"

"We...We might be able to find out where the plane went...if there was one...and if we can figure out when it took off. If the airstrip is as empty as Ranger Walker said...then it should be easy enough."

"Spit it out, Andrews!"

Andrews looked distinctly uncomfortable and looked over toward Walker. He was out of earshot.

"We might have...some satellites...in this area. There might...be a record of what was happening around here...when Agent McGee was taken."

"Might?"

"Might."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By that evening, they were on their way back to DC. ...and while they desperately wanted to keep going, they needed rest. They were pushing themselves as much as they could, but pushing themselves too much would only lead to falling down when it was most important. Gibbs decided that they would wait until the next morning to invade the CIA. He was certain that Andrews would report anyway, and Carew would be ready for them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I thought you had understood how it works."

Tim smiled. "I do. I'm not going to play."

"You already have."

"I'm better now," he retorted.

Syed struck out, punching Tim in the face, knocking over the chair. Tim felt as though his face had exploded with pain. He barely noticed the knock he got. It was the first time Syed had actually hit him.

"It seems that you need more persuading."

"Maybe if you ask me real nice," Tim said, lisping slightly because of his broken tooth.

In a strange shift, Syed began beating Tim himself rather than getting Jubran in the room. That relentlessly logical part of him couldn't help but wonder why.

Not that it mattered. He felt a rib crack and he screamed in pain. When the beating stopped, he thought it was over for now. ...but no.

"Jubran!"

The door opened again.

"Who do you work for?"

Tim whimpered but then swallowed his pain. "I work for the Keebler elves."

"Jubran. Go."

Tim took a deep breath, winced at the pain in his chest and then closed his eye.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Present..._

"Who is it, Martin?"

"_Agent Andrews and the people from NCIS, sir."_

Carew smiled to himself. Privately, he was surprised that they had been willing to accept Andrews' suggestion, but he didn't see any reason to let that be publically known.

"Wonderful. Send them in. Is everything ready?"

"_The technicians said that they'd need about twenty minutes more."_

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"_Yes, sir."_

The door opened admitting the always-nervous Agent Andrews (who probably had never dreamed he'd have so much interaction with the head of the CIA) and the always-determined MCRT, minus Tim, of course. For once, there was no overt distaste on the faces of the NCIS agents. They had managed to put aside their animosity for the time being. Again, he'd never say it, but he was impressed that they could. Too many people allowed themselves to be ruled by their emotions and let them get in the way of doing the job and doing the job right.

"Welcome back to the CIA," he said. "Have a seat. The information you wanted isn't quite ready yet."

"You _can_ help?" Tony asked.

"I think so. You realize, of course, that CIA surveillance of south Texas is absolutely classified and cannot be revealed to the public. Ever."

Gibbs nodded silently.

"Good. Then, I'll be brief. Yes, we have a number of satellites which have been retasked to fly over that area. In light of the current drug war in Mexico which occasionally spills over the border, we felt it was prudent to be aware of what was going on there. Based on the time frame, when Gasque was killed and the sedan was tracked leaving the airport, I've had technicians going through the records. I think it's safe to assume that Texas was _not_ the final stop."

"Well, if we find them leaving, we'll have to track that plane wherever it goes," Tony said.

"Can you do that as well?" Ziva asked, breaking her silence.

Carew smiled. "Yes. If we can get evidence of Agent McGee's captors and can track in on the appropriate plane, then, yes, we will be able to find their final destination."

"How?" Gibbs asked.

"Carefully, Agent Gibbs. Very carefully."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A single figure ran over the dunes, clothes of a color with the sand around him. It seemed as though he was the only human being within miles...until he mounted a particularly tall dune and saw his camp spread out below him. He waved down, warning the sentries that he was coming in with news and then headed off at top speed to the main tent.

"Are they leaving?" the leader asked as soon as the young man appeared.

"No. More have come."

"How many?"

"Only five, but they are well-armed."

"They show no sign of respecting our rights?"

"None."

The leader looked at the others.

"The shamal is building and will hit us soon. If we are going to move, it must be under the cover of the storm."

"The storm can blind us as well as it will blind them."

The man smiled. "Do you need to use your eyes in the desert, Najī? Have you forgotten so soon how to follow the sense inside?"

"No, Suhayl. I have not forgotten, nor have I forgotten what the shamal can do to man and beast caught in it."

"We can prepare for that because we know it is coming. They will not be ready. They are not of the desert. They are strangers who have shown no respect for our home. They have been given every chance to leave and they are not leaving." Suhayl looked at the others and then at the messenger. "Fahd, what do you think?"

"I...am not a member of the dīwān."

"You are bedouin."

Fahd looked around, both surprised and nervous at being asked his opinion from his elders.

"Fahd?"

He thought back to the screams of pain he had heard from one of the buildings, of the cruel expressions on the men's faces, the lack of respect they had for the desert. They truly were strangers. He had never seen their like...and never wanted to if that was what the wider world had to offer.

"They do not belong here. They will not leave on their own. We must make them leave," he said with as much courage as he dared.

"Najī?" Suhayl asked. "Even Fahd, young as he is, knows that they are a poison."

"They are a poison...but our numbers are dwindling without the poison. We may lose more in driving them away. We do not use those buildings."

"And yet the disrespect they show means they may spread. More are coming. Better to get rid of them now rather than wait," Mahmoud noted. "If they continue to increase their numbers..."

Najī looked at the other faces of the council. "If you are all agreed, then I will join my voice. I will lead us if my leadership is needed."

Suhayl nodded and looked at the others, searching for any disagreement. There was none. There was no need for a vote. They all understood and the tent slowly emptied until Fahd and Suhayl were all that remained.

"My father..." Fahd began.

"He will respect you for being honest. Fathers and sons do not always agree."

"The new arrivals were not all I had to report."

"What else?"

"They have a prisoner. He is being tortured."

"You have seen?"

Fahd shook his head. "No. I have heard. Sound carries in the desert."

Suhayl considered and then nodded. "Thank you, Fahd."

Fahd understood the dismissal and left the tent. There was just a hint of wind, swirling the sand on the dunes. He was seventeen and had not yet seen more of the outside world than the occasional semi and Sharurah and that was, he knew, hardly indicative. As a member of one of the few truly nomadic tribes, all he really knew was the desert, the Rub' al-Khali.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We have hours of footage to go through, even with the location narrowed down," the technician explained.

"You have extra pairs of eyes that are ready to look," Tony said darkly.

The technician swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he looked sideways at Tony...who suddenly smiled.

"So you didn't get fired after all?" he asked.

"Uh...no...I didn't."

"Still looking?"

"No!"

_Thwack!_

"Later, Tony."

"I have stations set up here. The footage can't leave this area without the authorization of...well, of the head of the CIA."

"And I don't give it," Carew said. "You are welcome to look here, but this is data that I will not allow to leave here. Stay as long as you like."

Ziva, Tony and Andrews sat at the stations and began searching through footage, watching for any sign of Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He lay on his broken arm all night long. Even the pain from that, as bad as it was (and it was bad), didn't distract him from watching the stars outside his window. He couldn't figure out which stars he could see, maybe with a few nights of viewing...but he could hardly depend on being left in this position...and he wasn't sure the stars were worth the agony of feeling a broken bone for hours on end. ...as beautiful as they were.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I see him!" Ziva announced suddenly into the heavy silence.

Instantly, the others swarmed over to her station. She reversed the video and then played it again. A long lens, certainly, but the sedan was unmistakable. The plane had been sitting on the runway for hours but no one had come out of it. The car pulled up and four men got out, all obviously free, none with the look of a bound prisoner. In response, the door of the plane also opened revealing one more man.

"Are you sure that's–?"

"Watch," Ziva insisted.

They walked around to the trunk...and pulled Tim out of it. Even with the grainy resolution, it was obvious that they were being none-too-gentle. Tim's arms were bound, as were his legs. It was impossible to tell how injured he was, but he was too limp to be hale and hearty. One man remained behind while the others boarded the plane...or rather while Tim was hauled onto the plane like cargo. Then, the plane took off, heading eastward.

"That's it. Can we track it all the way?"

The technician, Jeremy Wirth, eagerly pushed Ziva out of the way and sat down.

"Of course we can!" he said eagerly "All we have to do is put a tag on the image of the plane and then follow it across...er..." He looked up nervously. "Are you guys supposed to know about this?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and was about to speak when Andrews unexpectedly jumped in.

"Wirth, they're here already. We're trying to find someone whose life is vital to national security! Stop worrying about losing your job and do your job!"

Then, he looked back as Wirth flushed.

"Sorry...should I have let you do that, Agent Gibbs?"

Tony quickly turned his laugh into a cough.

"No, Agent Andrews."

"Uh...do you want to know what I'm going to do?"

"Can you explain yourself and work at the same time, Wirth?" Tony asked.

Wirth cleared his throat quickly and started to work. "Okay, so what we can do is put a tracing tag on the plane and we can transfer the tag as we see it move from satellite to satellite wherever it goes. Once it gets out of one satellite's range, we'll transfer to the next. It will take some time, but we'll get it."

"How long is _some time_?" Gibbs asked.

"Depends on how far he goes. The satellites have to communicate with one another and transfer the data and then they have to get a lock and follow. If it were only two satellites, it would still take over an hour, but I have no idea how far they went. Do you?"

"No. Get going."

"Already going, sir," Wirth said. "Are you all going to wait here? Because I'm not kidding about how much time it will take. I can't make it go any faster."

"A plane like that can't hold a lot of fuel, can it?" Andrews asked.

"Enough to cross the Atlantic if they were at the right spot," Ziva said. "It may also have been modified to carry more fuel. If it only held a few passengers and no other cargo, then more space could be given to fuel."

There seemed to be nothing left to say and they settled down to watch the plane being tracked as it flew over the Caribbean. It landed on St. Lucia and took off again after refueling.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The wind began to pick up during the day. Tim only noticed that because more sand swirled through his window and choked the air, making it hard to breathe in the heat that seemed to be getting worse.

They began to vary their technique, seeming to lose patience with the game he was obviously playing with them. They were working in a painful pattern of the falaqa and conventional beatings. The one in charge would ask a question, wait for ten seconds and then begin. The beating would continue for a few minutes and they would stop again.

Tim wondered how long he'd been here. It seemed like forever...and he knew that they could keep him alive to endure this for a lot longer. As the pain continued to get worse, never given time to ease, he knew he would break sooner than he had expected. He just couldn't tolerate it. They had finally realized how much he could resist and they were determined to break through his resistence, no matter what it took.

It was a battle. Pain vs. the will. Pain would win in the end. Tim knew that. He just didn't know how quickly it would happen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The plane landed in the Western Sahara and refueled again. And took off again. Hours had passed in the search for Tim's location. They had a frantic hour or two when the transition from one satellite to the next didn't work and gaining a lock on it again had been the result of intense searching. They all dozed off and on, but none of them could really sleep. Knowing that they might finally find where Tim was, knowing that every minute could count...and secretly, deep down, knowing that it was possible that they would be too late, that it had been too late from the beginning...it kept them from sleeping.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The wind was blowing in earnest by the evening, but it was not yet at the level it would reach soon. The sands were already increasing, but it was the kind of density that the shamal brought with it. Still, the bedouins headed through the desert, getting in position, each one knowing his target, each one knowing where to run and when. They knew the rhythms of the desert. They could feel the wind building and soon, it would be dangerous to be out in the storm. A shamal could drive sand to such speeds that it could scour paint off cars. Flesh, be it animal or human, could be scoured in like manner.

They could already see the massive cloud of sand approaching. Surely, the outsiders had seen the cloud. Surely, they could not be so ignorant that they would not know what it meant. It meant days of near-zero visibility. It meant needing to find shelter.

It meant sand.

...and this time, it also meant attack.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"It's a boat!" Wirth exulted, albeit a bit tiredly. "I found them again! They've left the plane and they're getting on a boat on the coast of Eritrea!"

Tony was awake instantly. Andrews was out like a light. Ziva came awake slightly more slowly than Tony. ...Gibbs was already awake, sitting at the terminal, waiting.

They watched as Wirth sped the boat across the Red Sea. ...to Saudi Arabia.

The boat moored just off the coast. Tim was transferred into a smaller boat and then to shore. Then, to a truck.

Off into the desert.

"Where are they going to stop?" Tony said angrily. "They've got to be getting close now! They have to be!"

"We have to switch satellites once more," Wirth said. "I'm sorry, but we don't have time to do anything else. It will take too long."

"Just do it," Gibbs said softly.

"Yes, sir."

Andrews finally woke up and joined them as the truck sped at unnaturally-high speeds through the desert to a sudden grouping of buildings, all cement blocks. They didn't seem to mark a city. They didn't seem to be occupied. They were strangely out of place in the middle of the Empty Quarter.

"What is that?"

"I don't know, sir," Wirth said. "I don't monitor this area most of the time."

Carew came into the room.

"Sir, we've found the location."

"Excellent. Where?"

"Saudi Arabia," Tony said. "We've got to get there. You have a plane?"

Carew shook his head and silently gestured for them to follow him.

"Wirth, please send that data to the Center."

"Yes, sir."

"What's going on?" Tony asked. "Carew, what are you doing? We know where he is!"

Carew nodded. "Yes, we do."

Tony grabbed Carew by the arm and then was shocked by how quickly he reacted, grabbing Tony's wrist and spinning him around. He ignored the guns now pointed at him by Ziva and Gibbs. He ignored Andrews drawing his own gun but not knowing where to point it.

"You are too easily ruled by your emotions, Agent DiNozzo. Your guilt is keeping you from thinking clearly. Show a little patience and you'll see exactly _why_ I have no intention of lending you my plane...at this moment. Understood?"

"Understood," Tony said.

Instantly, Carew released him and then, not paying the slightest attention to the guns still drawn, he continued down the hall.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Fahd, are you ready?"

"I am ready."

"Good," Suhayl said, nodding. He looked back over his shoulder. The cloud of sand was closer than ever.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They walked into a room reminiscent of MTAC and Carew took position and nodded.

"_We have a problem, Director Carew."_

A man, a SEAL, came up on the screen.

"What is it, Commander?"

"_I just received the coordinates, but it's really bad timing."_

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"_A shamal. There's no way we can get there before it hits that area. You know what those are like."_

"I don't," Tony said.

The SEAL commander looked at Tony. _"A shamal is a windstorm, a sandstorm. They last for days and visibility is zero. You can't track people through that. Even the Saudis hunker down and wait it out."_

"You understand what could be at stake here?" Carew asked mildly.

"_I do, sir, and I regret it, but we can't get there before it hits and by the time we could, we'd be lost in the desert. Besides that, there's another issue."_

"What is that?" Ziva asked.

"_Look at where it is. The eastern part of Najran province."_

"Oh," Ziva said, understanding. "Al-Hurram."

"Who?" Andrews asked.

"_The bedouin tribe who lives in that area. They claim it for themselves and they are one of the few still following the traditional lifestyle. If we go in there without permission, if we conduct a mission without them knowing... sir, it would be a bad idea. They'd more than likely attack us, even without aggression towards them. It is _their _land, sir. We will _have _to speak with a representative of al-Hurram first."_

"How long will this shamal last?" Gibbs asked.

"_I'm not sure. Predictions are for two days at least, if not more. It's not as big as some, but it's big enough. Bring up your current satellite images. You can see it."_

"They're that big?" Tony asked.

"_Yes. Zero visibility, sand that can peel paint off cars. You don't know how bad it can get. We'll go as soon as we can, but the angle of the shamal tells me that it's coming toward us. Sir?"_

Carew looked at the MCRT who seemed momentarily defeated. Knowing that their comrade was so close to rescue and yet so far from it...

Everything had been building to this moment...and now there was nothing they could do.

"_Director Carew?" _the commander asked.

"Stand down, Commander. Make arrangements to get into al-Hurram territory. Move as soon as you can. Keep us apprised."

"Yes, sir." He looked at the others. "I'm sorry, sir."

The screen went blank.

Tony nearly collapsed into a chair, running his hands through his hair. Ziva sat next to him, not speaking, not even touching him, just being close.

"What if we're too late to do anything?" he whispered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The shamal hit. The visibility was gone. Suhayl stood, looking more like a specter than a human being. He reveled in the storm...and he recalled something he had learned in school. It had been about the atomic bomb, but it was appropriate for his little corner of the world. As the time to attack came, he shouted into the roaring wind.

"'I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds!'"

Then, he and Fahd ran toward the settlement which was invisible to them, hidden by the sand.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Can we see it?" Gibbs asked.

Carew nodded and gestured. A satellite image, in real time, came up on the screen... but it did them no good as all they saw was a massive cloud of sand, streaming down from the north.

"I've never seen anything like that," Andrews said.

"I have never seen it from above," Ziva said, "but I have been in those storms before. Sometimes, the wind dies down and the sand and dust linger in the air for days, not blowing but just slowly settling. It is not pleasant no matter what."

"And we can't see through it, can we," Tony said.

"No," Carew confirmed. "Even the best technology has to bow to Mother Nature occasionally. This is, unfortunately, one of those times."

"So...we wait."

"Yes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The first shots were heard, even above the wind and the shouts, although unintelligible, caused both of Tim's captors to cease their attack. Tim was shaking and trembling, trying to get a decent breath in the heat and the sand. There was so much of it swirling in the cell, that a thin layer coated everything...including him. He could barely see, even out of the eye which still functioned.

"Jubran, gādir."

"Na'am."

Jubran remained, apparently following orders and Tim felt his whole body shaking. His face was throbbing, his feet were on fire and nothing in between felt much better. Even breathing hurt and his arm felt as though it had been ground to powder.

Jubran looked at him and Tim saw in his eyes that Jubran wanted nothing more than to hurt him. Every time he swung that bar, he enjoyed seeing Tim's agony.

"Syed saya'rif la abadan," he said, his voice only barely audible.

Tim had no idea what he had said, but he heard the scrape of metal against the concrete floor and there was an eager look in his eye. Tim suddenly understood, even if he still didn't know what the words were.

Jubran was going to take the opportunity presented him to beat Tim without mercy. Syed would not be there to stop him from going too far. Even with the sand in his eye, even though he still couldn't see straight because of the last round, Tim understood all that from the cruel smile on Jubran's lips.

Tim closed his eye and waited for what he knew was coming.

Somehow, he found the strength to scream.

As painful as every previous beating had been, Tim now knew that Jubran really had been holding back. Each strike rung another scream from his parched throat, tears from his dried out and scratchy eye. He didn't know how long it lasted, but suddenly, there was a roar and then a clang of metal on the ground. Tim heard it over the sound of his own hoarse screaming.

Then, there was only the sound of the storm...but someone was there. Tim could sense it. It must be Syed.

Opening his eye, Tim chanced a look at the door.

It wasn't Syed. The man (Tim only gave the figure that designation by default) was covered in sand, his body clothed in nondescript robes and fabric that covered every part of him, except for his eyes which were covered by goggles.

Tim tried to speak, tried to beg, but at first nothing came out of his mouth. He coughed, felt more tears as the result of even that slight movement. The shrouded figure did nothing. He seemed to be staring at Tim, deciding what to do.

"Please, help me," he begged.

No reaction. No sound. The guns and shouts could still be heard outside, but in here, there was only the sound of the wind. Tim noticed now, a large mass on the floor, just barely in his line of sight. Jubran. He must be dead.

"Please," Tim begged again.

Still nothing.

_Maybe he doesn't speak English. Maybe...Arabic? Think, Tim! You know how to ask for help! That's one of the things you learned in a bunch of languages!_

"Min...Min fadlak! Sā'adī! Please..."

The man walked into the room until he towered over Tim. Tim blinked his one working eye.

"Why should I help you?" The voice was masculine, deep, and only slightly accented.

Tim felt hysterical laughter building up inside. A little bit came out. "Pity. Mercy. Whatever reason might make you help me. If you don't want to save me...please, just kill me. Don't leave me to them. Don't leave me here alive." He took an ill-timed breath and got a mouth full of sand. He began to choke on it, unable to find the energy to expel it from his throat.

The man knelt beside him, turned his head...and stuck a dirty finger into his mouth, clearing out the blockage and nearly making Tim gag.

"Please," Tim begged one more time. "I don't care which you choose."

Again, the man stared down at him. He was close enough now that Tim could see his eyes through the dark goggles. They revealed no emotion. He was simply evaluating. Gibbs couldn't have been more stoic.

"You are American?"

"Yes."

"Why are you here?"

"They wanted information from me...information I could not give."

"Because you did not have it?"

"Because _they_ could not have it."

Then, the man pulled out a knife and brandished it over Tim's face. Tim didn't flinch at all. He honestly didn't care if the man killed him or helped him escape. Either option was viable as a release from this misery.

"Falaqa?" the man asked.

"Yes."

The man nodded.

"Can you walk?"

"I don't know."

The man looked Tim up and down, taking stock of Tim's status and then, moving more quickly than Tim had ever seen, the knife sliced through the ropes binding Tim to the chair.

"You. Stand now," the man ordered.

At first, Tim couldn't even move. He'd been bound, strapped to the chair, unable to move on his own for days, maybe weeks. He didn't know. He tried to move. He was surprised that the man didn't try to rush him. He just waited for Tim to do as he was bid.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tim moved his legs and he felt limply onto his right side, but the mere motion, the contact of his feet with the floor rung another weak scream from his lips.

"I c-c-can't walk."

The man grabbed Tim's ankle, lifted it into the air, and gently touched the sole of his foot.

He might as well have hit it with the bar. It hurt just as much. Tim groaned in pain.

"You cannot walk," the man agreed. He bent over, grabbed Tim around the waist and none-too-gently pulled him upright. Tim writhed slightly as the other injuries he had suffered made themselves known, as blood rushed to his damaged feet, as the man's arm put painful pressure on ribs that must be broken, as his broken arm flopped uselessly to his side. He screamed again, but the man didn't ease his grip or show any pity. He simply dragged Tim out of the cell, through the dusty hallway and out into the storm.

The chaos seemed to have vanished. Tim could see nothing, but he couldn't hear anything either. No guns. No shouts. ...of course, the roaring in his ears from the agony he was experiencing made it difficult to notice anything other than himself anyway. The man dragged him to what must have been the center of the compound and then lay him on the ground, sand swirling around, getting into every crevice. Tim closed his eye because he couldn't see anything anyway and the last thing he needed was another source of pain, no matter how slight. He just listened to the voices over his head...strangely, they were in English.

"This is their prisoner."

"Why have you brought him here, Suhayl?"

"He may be of value."

"To _them_. We did not kill them all. Some escaped. They will want their prize."

"I chose not to kill him nor leave him here."

"He is weak. He will slow us down, use our supplies... He is a danger to us!"

"He is _my_ prisoner now," Suhayl said.

"Your prisoner? Or is he now your guest? You have saved him."

"It is my decision to make."

"It affects us all."

"I will decide. He will drain no one's supplies but mine."

"And if they come after him? If they kill to get him back?"

"Would you have me put him back, Mahmoud?"

They were talking about him. They were deciding his fate. He had no idea whether or not he should be afraid of these men. He didn't know if he'd been rescued or recaptured. All he knew was that they had brought up the possibility of leaving him here alive. That couldn't happen. Tim couldn't bear the thought of having to wait here, slowly starving to death or dying of thirst, only to be saved for more torture. No. No, he couldn't tolerate that. That could not be an option. Tim reached out blindly through the sand that was already drifting around him. He touched a leg. He didn't care whose leg it was.

"Please," he said as he had before, straining his voice to be heard over the wind. "If you won't save me, kill me. Please."

There was a long silence.

"He is an American." There was no censure nor praise. Just a statement of fact.

"Yes."

Another long silence as the sand piled higher and higher around Tim's prone form.

"How will we get him back? It is miles away."

Tim felt that same strong, unpitying arm haul him upright. He screamed again, but choked on more sand and began coughing weakly. Someone wrapped fabric around his head, loose enough to breath, but covering his whole face. Tim didn't like the sensation but couldn't really complain when it kept the sand away from his face. His body began to feel raw in the blowing sand. All he had were his boxers.

Then, more fabric, this time swathing his body, almost as if they were mummifying him...and then, he was turned horizontal, at least four men carrying him, and they began to run. The jolting hurt. A lot. Tim could barely breathe for all the pain, but he couldn't ask them the stop, couldn't do anything. He could only try to stay alive now that it seemed as though the torture was over.

...or so he thought. One of the men carrying him tripped as they went up a hill (a dune?) and brought them all down together. Tim landed hard in the sand and screamed from the pain...before falling into the release of darkness.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Hal huwa hayy?"

"Na'am wa lākin takallim al-inglayzī. He is American and will not understand."

Suhayl helped unwrap their burden and Imād got his first look at his patient out of the storm. The tents couldn't keep all the sand out, but the worst of it was blocked as was the wind. A small electric lantern shone brightly from its position on a box in the center of the tent.

"Allah birhama," he said in shock. "What was done to him?"

Suhayl knelt beside Imād and removed his goggles and covering. "What was _not_ done to him would be easier to say."

Imād leaned over and examined the body of the erstwhile prisoner and then put his ear directly over his mouth.

"He breathes, but not easily. It might have been kindness to have killed him instead."

"He would have accepted it without question," Suhayl said. "It is difficult to say which he wanted more."

"What is he now? Prisoner or guest?"

"I have not decided."

"You must decide soon, Suhayl. Even without examining him thoroughly, I can tell you that my skills will not be enough. He needs more than the desert can give him."

"Do what you can." Suhayl stood and left the tent.

Imād looked at the unconscious young man before him and shook his head. "What I can do is not enough to save you. Still, we must begin."

He first washed a body too long left dirty. It might have seemed a waste of water, but infection could be as deadly as any wound. Beginning with a clean slate was much safer. ...but the even the act of washing was too much for the taxed body. Imād felt the man tense as he began to regain consciousness. Then, the eye which had not been damaged opened slightly. Crusted as it was with sand and tears, it did not open much.

"I see you have joined us," Imād said. "Let me wash your face so that you may see who speaks to you."

"Wh-Where..."

"You are in the desert. Beyond that, I do not think an exact location would help you."

He wet a cloth carefully cleaned away the dirt from the uninjured eye. Then, he was rewarded with a green eye staring at him, full of pain, but aware.

"You...not...not the..." He coughed.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Yes."

There was desperation in his voice. Nodding, Imād picked up a waterskin from the floor and sat beside his patient. Just getting him in a position to drink caused more pain, but it was an easier pain since it led to good things. Knowing the ways of depravation, Imād forced his patient to drink slowly, although he tried to drink more than he should.

"That is enough for now. I must continue my examination. It will hurt."

"Everything does. That's not new."

"Who are you? What is your name?"

"Tim. Yours?"

"Imād."

The one eye blinked at him. "Imād."

"Close."

A half smile. "Am I a prisoner?"

"I do not know. It is possible. You were captured during a raid. You are..." He searched for the right term in English.

"Fair game?" Tim asked.

"I suppose." Imād probed at Tim's face, causing him to wince and pull away. "I am sorry, but this will hurt."

"I know."

"I do not think I can do anything for your face. It will take a doctor, one with more training than I have."

"I'm..." He moaned. "I'm not surprised."

"What happened?"

"They hit me in the face...a few times back when I was first... taken."

Imād nodded. "I see."

"Will I be blind in that eye?"

"I have no way of knowing. I am sorry."

"Guess it doesn't matter."

"It may. It may not. Your arm is broken."

"I know."

"How?"

"They punched me and the chair fell over. Then, they kicked it a few times."

Imād looked at Tim's face. His eyes was staring up at the rattling roof of the tent. It was a rather matter-of-fact acceptance of injury.

"You have experienced this before?"

"Not exactly... It was worse before."

"Worse?"

"Yeah. Before it was done by people I thought were on my side. These men, I knew they were evil from the beginning and I expected no better." He coughed again and then moaned.

"I will set your arm when I am finished with my examination. Your ribs are broken. There is...bleeding here." He touched Tim's abdomen.

"You can't fix that, can you."

"No. It will have to heal on its own or you will have to get help from another."

"How likely is that?"

"La a'rif. I do not know."

There were many bruises, some lacerations. Then, he came to the feet and before he could do anything, Tim exerted himself enough to sit upright, to reach out a hand, even as he shook with pain.

"Don't...don't touch my feet."

Imād quickly eased him back down.

"They have been beaten?"

"Yes. Don't touch them."

Imād nodded. "I will set your broken arm...but first, drink this." He held out a small flask.

"What is it?"

"It will stop the pain, or it will make it less for a while."

"What is it?"

"Al-afyūn."

There was wariness, and for good reason, he supposed, but Imād could not think of the English word for what he was giving him...and he had nothing else that was strong enough to stop the pain anyway.

"It will not hurt you. It is what we use for pain when...aspirin is not enough."

Tim nodded and allowed Imād to help him drink the concoction. He sputtered somewhat, but soon was nearly somnolent. Imād touched his arm.

"Does that hurt?"

"A li...le," Tim mumbled.

Imād tried to understand the slurred speech, but his English was not so good as Suhayl's was; however, the lack of reaction to his prodding told him enough. He gave a quick pull (and proved that the pain relief was not absolute. Tim screamed.) ...and then set the broken bones. Tim went limp, unconscious finally, before he was done. Last of all, Imād felt Tim's forehead (there was a fever), checked his pulse (racing), and then carefully lifted his feet so that they were protected from accidental jarring. Falaqa often left a prisoner unable to walk but with little outward sign of injury. Sometimes, bones and tendons were broken. Sometimes, the nerves were damaged. All this would have to be found by a doctor in a hospital. He would do what he could and then wait and see if they would save Tim or keep him until he died.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up, hearing wind, feeling pain...but sensing a change in location.

_Where am I?_

Then, he remembered. He'd been rescued...or something. He felt a pain in his chest whenever he breathed and there was a dull throbbing pain in his abdomen, throbbing in tandem with the pain in his face and his feet.

"Hal onta sāhin?"

The young voice startled him and he opened his eye and couldn't see anyone.

"Sayid?"

He turned his head to the side and saw a young girl, perhaps five years old, staring at him avidly.

"Hal onta sāhin?" she asked again.

"I'm sorry...I don't understand you," he whispered.

She blinked at him with interest for a few seconds. "Mā'?"

He looked at her with just as much interest. Somehow, he had not expected there to be families among the people who had saved him. That changed where he thought he was. The girl held up the waterskin.

"Water?" Tim asked.

"Mā'."

"Yes...uh...na'am...min fadlak."

She giggled. "Min fadlik."

"Fadlik?"

"Na'am." Then, she pulled the waterskin over to him, took off the cap and held it to his mouth...or she tried to. She was small and the waterskin was almost half as big as she was. In the end, she had to set it on the cot, climb on the cot herself and then, with minimal help from Tim, lift it. It was awkward, but Tim got his drink of water. She took a small drink herself and then carefully replaced the cap and pulled the waterskin back to its place.

She walked back and stared at him some more.

"Who are you?" Tim asked.

The way she looked at him without speaking reminded him of someone, but he couldn't think who through the haze of pain. Still, he was glad of the distraction from it even if conversation wasn't going to be all that impressive between them.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember the words he'd learned once upon a time.

"Man?" he asked.

She smiled. "Samia. Man onta?"

"Tim."

Again, she giggled. "Tim?"

"Yes. Na'am." He smiled. Her laugh was the kind that made you want to laugh in return even if you didn't get the joke. "I wish you could tell me what's going on."

She just looked at him, listening to words that, to her, must sound like gibberish.

"Samia!"

"Bābā!" she yelled back.

His rescuer/captor came striding into the tent, dusting sand off his head and shoulders. He looked at Tim who stared back. Then, he turned his attention to Samia.

"Samia, thuhibi ila ommik."

"Bābā..." she whined.

"Thuhibi."

"Ma'a al-salāma, Tim!" she said brightly and darted out of the tent.

Tim got a glimpse of the blowing sand before the tent flap fell back into place.

"Bye," he whispered. Then, he looked up. "I don't know much Arabic...none really."

"I received a Western education. I know English. Most of us do...although Samia does not as yet."

"She's your daughter?"

"Yes. Are you hungry?" his captor asked.

"Yes...but I don't know if I could eat anything."

"I will ask Imād."

"Who are you...if I can ask that."

"I am Suhayl Ibn Hunayn al-Hurram. My family claims this region. Your captors intruded, entered without permission. That is why we attacked."

"What about me?"

"You are...undecided. You are a thing of value to them. That is obvious. I have taken you from them which means you are mine...but you may also be more dangerous to keep than to abandon. However, you are also a human being. ...and you are an American which makes matters complicated. You are allies with the rulers of this country whether I like or not, and your military is in this region of the world...whether I like or not. Are you sought for?"

"Probably...but I doubt they know where I am. I don't have any idea how long it's been. Days...maybe weeks." A pang hit Tim's stomach and he winced, pressing his hand against his abdomen. "What are...you going to do with me?"

"I do not know. Yet. We can do little while the shamal continues."

"Shamal?"

"The sandstorm. Winds from the north pick up vast amounts of sand and blow them southward. They last a long time. It has already been a day since we conducted our raid and the sands have not stopped yet."

"A day?"

"Yes. You have slept a long time."

Tim thought about that and then turned his head so that he could look into Suhayl's eyes.

"Am I dying?"

He caught it, a slight flicker, not much, but enough to tell him.

"Perhaps."

Tim nodded. "If that's the way it has to be...then better to die like this than as their prisoner."

Suhayl said nothing more. He left the tent. A little while later, Imād returned with some sort of thin gruel or broth or something equally disgusting, but it was the first real nourishment Tim had been given in days and he ate all he was given. Then, he accepted more of the strange analgesic and fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Agent Gibbs, we have permission from the leader of al-Hurram to go into their territory, but the shamal hasn't even begun to die down yet. We're ready to move as soon as the storm ebbs, but not until then."_

Gibbs nodded, gave the signal and ended the conversation. The satellite view returned to screen in MTAC. Carew had allowed them access to the satellite linkup until they could move in and get Tim. The shamal was slowly moving along, but not fast enough for his tastes. Finally, he could stand staring at it no more and left the room.

As soon as he reached the bullpen, Tony and Ziva looked at him eagerly.

"Not yet," he said.

They just had to wait.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The sound which awakened Tim the next time was not the wind shaking the tent. That had lessened somewhat. It was gunfire and shouting...like at the compound. He pushed himself up painfully and tried to determine what was going on. Some inner sense told him that shouting would be a huge mistake.

There were words being shouted but Tim couldn't understand them.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened. Tim stiffened but relaxed instantly when he saw it was Samia. She looked terrified as she ran to him, climbed on the cot and held him tightly. Tim sucked in his breath at the sharp pain but he didn't force her to let go. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't speaking.

"Samia...um...hadatha?"

"Rijāl. Rijāl kathīrūn!" she whispered. "Ma'a midfa'āt."

Tim was impressed that she wasn't crying or screaming as many children do when they are frightened. Either she was so afraid that she couldn't or she had been taught from birth to be quiet when in danger. He had no idea what she was saying but the fact that she was so afraid told him that he was probably the reason. The people who had taken him had come to reclaim him.

He was probably more frightened than Samia was.

"Samia...you have to go. You can't stay here. It's too dangerous," he said.

Samia didn't respond...and he knew that sending her out into the storm, into the frenzy he could hear might actually be worse. ...but if she were found with their target...

He felt so helpless. ...and Samia wouldn't let go of him.

Then, the tent flap lifted again...and it wasn't Suhayl or Imād.

"Samia," Tim whispered and, gritting his teeth, he forced her over and behind him on the floor. "Sh. Okay?"

She looked at him and said nothing but cowered on the floor while Tim turned back...and recognized the man. It was the brother of the man he'd killed back in DC...whenever that had been.

"Oh, no..." Tim saw that the hatred was still there. He might survive this but he would wish he hadn't.

The man strode toward him...but he aimed the gun at Samia.

"Should I kill her as you killed my brother? Should I torture her as my brother was tortured?"

"Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with me."

"You care about her. That makes her important to you. I will let you watch her die."

He leaned over and grabbed Samia by her hair. Now, she screamed. She didn't understand the words, but she obviously understood the intent behind them. Tim reached out uselessly and watched as the man held his gun to her head.

"Put her down," Tim begged. "If I'm the one you're here for, then take me and leave her."

"You do not give the orders, ibn zanā!"

Tim looked into Samia's eyes and saw only terror. ...and he flashed back to the man who had died during his capture, to Geoff falling in his defense...and then the pilot who had been killed, his empty eyes staring into Tim's. No...not again. He wouldn't see another person killed because _he_ was important. He clenched his teeth and launched himself off the cot, ignoring the raging fire in his feet, the pain in his head and chest. He ignored all the pain and attacked. He knew he couldn't attack for long. He probably wouldn't get a single punch in, but he would force the man to focus on him, not on Samia.

The man threw Samia to the side and his gun went off...flying wide of the mark. Tim grabbed at his wrist with his one good hand and struggled to keep him from firing again.

...then, Tim went flying as the man punched him hard...right in the face, the same place that had received so many blows already. The back of Tim's head hit one of the tent poles, knocking it down as he crumpled to a heap on the ground. The wind began to shake the tent even more. Another pole fell and another. Slowly, the tent began to collapse around him...but Tim could only feel that. He was too dazed to see anything at all, in too much agony to care.

Then, he heard another gunshot. ...but it didn't hit him.

"Samia!" He tried to sit up but the whole tent finally fell and the weight was too much for him. A feather could have knocked him over at this point. ...but he got another tent pole, plus the weight of the canvas, and being already nearly unconscious anyway, that was enough and, in spite of his fear, he passed out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was still quite a bit of sand in the air, making visibility poor, but the SEAL team headed for the compound. Commander Keillor figured that the man they were trying to rescue was probably already dead, but he had his orders, and if they had a chance to take down a terrorist group, no matter how small, it was worth fighting the sand.

The compound seemed deserted when they arrived, but they deployed as usual.

"_In position, sir."_

All reported in and Keillor gave the order to attack. It was a slick operation...but they were too late.

"Sir, there's no one here!"

"No one alive, anyway."

Keillor followed the voices into one of the buildings, back into what was clearly a cell. There was blood on the floor, a rickety chair, cut ropes...and a decomposing corpse.

"It's not him, sir."

"Looks like someone beat us to it," Keillor observed.

"NCIS?"

"Not likely. Nor the CIA. They wouldn't want to get their hands dirty if they didn't have to. No...this was someone else, but who else knew that Agent McGee was here?"

"Maybe he wasn't. Maybe they'd moved him already."

"Maybe. Strom!"

A SEAL ran into the cell. "Yes, sir!"

"Any sign of retreat? One man isn't enough to have done all this."

"No sign of anything, sir. The storm has removed any traces. There are two other bodies outside, sir. No living. Nothing left behind that could tell us where they went."

Keillor swore.

"Well, someone attacked them. Someone cut those ropes and killed these guys. There were at least ten men here at one point according to images we were given. So..."

"So...three are dead. The captive is gone. Seven are missing."

"Are we sure that it's three of _them_ dead, sir?" Strom asked. "We don't know who attacked. It could easily be that these dead bodies are three of the attackers."

"You're right. ...and we're not going to find anything here to tell us."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Bristol?"

"If we're right in assuming that the three dead are those who were holding Agent McGee, then whoever attacked had to have known what to expect."

"Reconaissance."

"Yes, sir."

"They'd be watching the compound for days beforehand."

Keillor nodded.

"All right. We'll finish up here and then report in and see if our eyes in the skies can tell us anything."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

His face hurt more.

"He is bad, Suhayl. Worse now than he was."

Breathing hurt more.

"I know."

Everything hurt more.

"What are you going to do?"

"Samia?" Tim whimpered. "Samia..."

"Tim, it is all right. Samia is fine."

Tim tried to take a breath and opened his eye. Then, he turned his head.

"She's all right?" he asked and then moaned.

"She is frightened but she is fine," Suhayl said.

"Was...anyone else..."

"No one was killed...except for two men who attacked us. Fahd was watching and he saw their approach."

Tim closed his eye. "I'm sorry. People...keep dying...because of me."

"No one died who did not deserve it."

Tim felt a hand on his arm. "Here, this will help you to sleep."

He drank without question and welcomed the release.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When he woke up again, Suhayl was sitting beside him, Samia asleep on his lap.

"You saved Samia," he said calmly. There was no praise, just facts.

"I tried," Tim said blearily. His pain was definitely blunted, but his brain seemed affected as well.

"You did not have to try. You have injured yourself to try and save one of your captors."

"She's...a little girl."

"Even so. The shamal is weakening. As are you."

Tim nodded. He could feel the difference in his own body.

"We are forty kilometers north of Sharurah. Tonight, we go and take you there."

"Sharurah?"

"A small town. The airport will take you to Riyadh. I will go. Imād will go. We will take you to a hospital where you will be treated for your injuries."

"Does that make me a prisoner or a guest?" Tim asked.

For the first time, he saw a hint of a smile on Suhayl's face.

"Do you treat your prisoners so well in America? Saudi Arabia is not so kind." Then, he stood and carried his sleeping daughter out of the tent.

Tim laughed a little as the tent flap fell and tried to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sayathall al-rihla, Imād?" Suhayl asked.

"Na'am, wa lākin sayash'ar bi'alam."

Suhayl nodded. He knew that Tim was in dire straits. The left side of his face had swollen again from the punch he'd received. Even in the heat, his skin was cool to the touch and his breathing was bad. He would die if he didn't get help.

"Yajib an yakūn kāfin."

Imād laughed. "Atamannā annak sahīh."

Suhayl looked around. Visibility was still very low, but the wind was calming down. All through his camp, tents were coming down as the members of the clan began to prepare to leave. He didn't need to manage it. Everyone knew their part, from the oldest member, his grandfather, down to the youngest, Najī's son, Ya'qūb. He wasn't worried about that. He was worried about how they were going to get Tim secured. Generally, they traveled either riding on their camels or walking. Tim couldn't do either one. They had to rig up a kind of a litter for him...and that would slow them down.

"Bābā! Bābā!" Samia called and ran across to him.

"Ma, Samia?"

"Urīd an atakallim liTim!"

"Huwa al-nawm."

"Min fadlak, Bābā? Urīd an aqūl 'thank you'!"

"Sa'urāfiquha," Imād said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Someone else got there first?" Tony asked in shock.

"_It looks that way. Three dead bodies, no Agent McGee. The sand's obscured everything. We can't track them...whoever they are."_

"So...we have nothing?" Ziva asked.

"_We have nothing, but this was a calculated raid. They had to be watching the compound and planning in advance. You might be able to find them if you have access to the satellite recordings."_

"Thank you, Commander," Jenny said.

"_Sorry we couldn't do more, but we've scoured the whole area, and the sand is still flying. There's nothing we can do."_

"I understand. Keep us apprised."

"_Will do, ma'am."_

They walked out of MTAC and down to the bullpen...where Tony delivered a swift kick to his desk and swore loudly.

"This sucks! What are we supposed to do now? McGee's gone..._again_. Our only chance of _maybe_ finding out who has him is to look at hours of satellite footage..._again_. ...in the hopes that we might catch a glimpse of someone _else_ who might have taken him..._again_!"

He sat down on his chair rested his head in his hands.

"Tony...this is not your fault," Ziva said.

"I didn't say it was!"

"You did not have to. This is not your fault."

"She's right, Tony," Gibbs said. "This is beyond any of us here."

"Well...it doesn't matter _whose_ fault it is...because McGee is still gone. We don't even know if he's still alive."

"Agent Gibbs?" Andrews asked tentatively.

"What?"

"Do you want to go back to the CIA, start again?"

Gibbs sighed and then nodded. "We might as well."

"I'll call Director Carew and let him know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was only semi-conscious when they strapped him to the makeshift litter and headed out. It was after midnight when the group headed off into the weakening sandstorm. Samia walked beside the litter for the first hour, hoping that Tim would wake up. She had carefully practiced the English words and wanted to say them...but Tim never opened his eyes. After an hour, she grew tired and was transferred to camel-back where she slept as they traveled through the cool night.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Translation from Arabic:_

"Samia...um...hadatha?" ~ _Samia, what is it?_

"Rijāl. Rijāl kathīrūn!" "Ma'a midfa'āt." _~ Men. Many men! With guns._

"Sayathall al-rihla, Imād?" ~ _Will he survive the journey, Imād?_

"Na'm, wa lākin sayash'ar bi'alam." ~ _Yes, but he will be in pain._

"Yajib an yakūn kāfin." ~ _It has to be enough._

"Atamannā annak sahīh." ~ _I hope you're right._

"Bābā! Bābā!" ~ _Dad! Dad!_

"Ma, Samia?" ~ _What, Samia?_

"Urīd an atakallim liTim!" ~ _I want to talk to Tim!_

"Huwa al-nawm." ~ _He's sleeping._

"Min fadlak, Bābā? Urīd an aqūl 'thank you'!" ~ _Please, Dad? I want to say thank you!_

"Sa'urāfiquha," ~ _I'll take her._


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The sand still blew but less now. As the night grew stale, a small band continued its southward trek up and down the dunes toward Sharurah. There was little speaking. There was no need for it. All knew where they were headed and were used to traveling together, so much so that even the order of the camels was automatic. The only time people spoke was in quiet conversation with each other or when something required the attention of the entire group.

Like now.

"Imād!"

The call came from one of the men bearing Tim's litter. The name carried to all and they knew what was needed. The caravan came to a gradual halt. Imād slid off his camel and hurried to the injured man.

"Huwa hāthin," one of the men whispered.

Indeed, Imād could hear Tim mumbling in between gasps for air and groans of pain. He nodded and gently pulled the cover from Tim's face.

His eye opened and stared. For a moment there was no recognition in it, but then Tim stared at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words slurring almost to the point that Imād couldn't understand.

"It is all right, Tim. We can stop to rest. The camels do not mind," Imād said with a smile.

Tim winced, curling slightly against a sudden surge of pain.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, managing a weak smile.

"No, we are not."

Tim nodded and then seemed to drift away again.

"I didn't want you to die," he said.

Imād looked at him in surprise and then looked at the men waiting to continue. They had heard and were surprised but a man in the grips of delirium wasn't necessarily speaking truths. ...but sometimes... the hidden truths that could not be borne came out when the mind was unable to keep them hidden.

"I know," Imād said.

Tim's right hand reached out and plucked at Imād's sleeve.

"I...I wouldn't...have helped them if...if it had just been me. I... They could have... killed me. I didn't...want anyone to die."

"To whom do you speak, Tim?"

Another groan of pain and panting as he tried to breathe through the agony.

"Maybe one or two...maybe they were really...they really deserved it...but the children." Tears welled up in the glazed eye and slowed slipped down his cheek, leaving a dusty dirty track. "I can't...stop hearing them...cry for mercy. ...as they died..."

Imād said nothing but began to search through his bag for the analgesic. Tim couldn't explain himself clearly right now and this was something secret and painful. Many men lived with deeds they regretted, things that they could not forget. Tim deserved to be guided into sleep, away from the pain, both physical and mental.

Again, Tim's hand pulled at his sleeve.

"Please, forgive me," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Imād put a hand on Tim's cheek, wiped away his tears as he would those of a child.

"I forgive you, Tim. You are forgiven, in sha'allah. Now, drink and escape your pain." Carefully, Imād lifted Tim up, held the flask to his lips and helped him to drink. It took very little time for him to fade away. Once he was satisfied that Tim was asleep once more, he covered his face to protect him from the sand and returned to his camel. The signal was given and the caravan continued on its way, up and down the dunes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony swore expressively and pushed back from the console.

"Isn't there _any_ way you can figure out how to narrow down where we have to look?" he demanded of Jeremy who winced.

"I'm sorry, Agent DiNozzo. I can program the video to stop on human movement, but there are people constantly in the area and it wouldn't help. People are also coming there and leaving; so we can't filter out the movement inside a certain area. There are limits to what I can do with the recordings!"

"What about Abby?" Agent Andrews suggested.

"What about her?"

"She's...some sort of whiz, isn't she? She knows this stuff. Right?"

"McGee is...but since he's not here," Tony said.

"Abby is very good at what she does," Ziva said, covering Tony's momentary slip. "...and she has never been to the CIA. She would enjoy the experience, would she not?"

Gibbs smiled. "If that would work for the CIA, letting another one of us in here?"

"She's under the same restrictions as the rest of you," Agent Andrews said, looking both embarrassed at his rigid tone and surprised that he was being deferred to by Gibbs of all people. "Otherwise...I don't think it's a problem."

"Let's get her here. This is taking too long."

"We should be over _there_, in the desert," Tony muttered. "Not sitting in McLean trying to find something that may not even be there."

"It's the best we have right now, Tony," Gibbs said. "Until we have some clue of where to start, we're not going to do McGee any good by blundering through the Empty Quarter."

"People do not survive there by...blundering," Ziva said. "It is called empty for a reason."

"We at least know where to _start_."

"And where do we go from there? The shamal will have removed all traces of the movements of the people who have McGee," Ziva said firmly. "We cannot even be sure _who_ has him at this point and whether he was rescued or is still captured or captured by someone else. Al-Hurram is not above raids on those who trespass on their territory. They would consider whatever was taken to belong to them. If they did take McGee, they would see it as their right to continue holding him prisoner and perhaps bartering with the terrorists if it came to it. They know how to travel in the desert and are not confined to the roads. There is nothing we can do right now!"

"And you like that?" Tony threw back at her.

"No. I hate it. I hate that I must sit here in this room filled with computers and know that there is nothing I can do to help McGee but try to find something that he could probably find with ease. ...but it is not pointless what we are doing. We are doing all we can, and when that is the case, what we are doing is enough. It must be because there is nothing else. We can only do this and hope for better things."

The room was silent. Ziva looked around at them all.

"I will continue to search until Abby has arrived." She sat down at her console and began scanning another area around the compound.

Tony stared at her for a long moment.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Go get Abby."

"Yes, Boss." He turned around and left.

"Andrews, go with him."

"Yes, Agent Gibbs." Andrews followed quickly on Tony's heels.

Gibbs stared daggers at Jeremy who turned back to his monitor without a word and then walked over to Ziva and sat down beside her. She was sitting just a shade too straight for it to be natural.

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Tony is not the only one with a debt to repay," Ziva whispered. "He is not the only one who feels useless in this search. We have been behind the entire time McGee has been missing. I know what methods can be used to make a person talk. I have seen it. I have felt it. ...I have done it to others. If McGee is still alive after all this time...he must wish he was not. He saved me from that. I wish to do the same."

She took a quick breath and a tear fell down her cheek.

"We're going to find him, Ziva."

"You cannot know that."

"Yes, I can because I'm not stopping until we do, until we bring him home."

"Will we bring him home on a plane or in a box?" she asked.

"That I don't know...but we _will_ find him, and I choose to say that it will be alive that we bring him home."

Gibbs touched Ziva's wrists where the scars from her time spent bound and tortured a year ago were still very obvious.

"The scars do not leave, Gibbs. I think McGee carries more scars than those we have seen. ...scars that he will not share with anyone. If he has survived, it will mean that he has gained more scars. How many more can he survive?"

Gibbs couldn't answer because Ziva couldn't know that she was right, more right than she could ever guess about Tim keeping secrets. He chose to say nothing. Instead, he stood, squeezed her shoulder briefly and then walked to his own console.

They continued to work in silence until Abby arrived.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim slept until the sun could barely be seen through the sand, peeking over the horizon, signaling another day of the continuing sandstorm. When the town of Sharurah appeared in the distance, Tim awakened, more aware...unfortunately. He opened his eye but couldn't see anything. He hoped that didn't mean that he was blind.

He must have made some sound that could be heard over the wind because there was someone speaking close to his ear.

"We are near to Sharurah. It is not far from us."

"How...far?" he asked, unable to muster the energy for more than a whisper.

"Two kilometers. Perhaps three."

That seemed really far, and each step jolted him too much, but Tim saw no reason to mention that. If they could make his ride any smoother, he was sure they would have done so. As it was, he owed them a debt that he could never repay. These people had carried him for miles through the desert, cared for him, and done it all for a reason he could understand but not really comprehend. Another hour's worth of jolting could be tolerated.

He repeated that to himself over and over as his right hand clenched tightly against the continual pain. He would clench his teeth but that hurt more than the jolting did. His right arm was about the only part of him that didn't hurt.

_Too bad I'm left-handed,_ he thought to himself as he jolting ride continued. At least they couldn't see the tears running down his cheeks.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was wiping her eyes more than could be chalked up to tiredness, but she continued to talk, almost non-stop, as she worked.

"So we can create a blackout for the center area and we can assume that we can find these people right before the sand gets there."

"Why?" Jeremy asked.

"Because they would have to be in place before the shamal hit," Ziva said. "Even if they can move through the storm, it is safer to be in place in advance."

Abby kept going as if there had been no interruption.

"But we don't know exactly when; so we need to search for human movement in the desert around the buildings and then we can..." She paused. "Did you ever see Tim on the... Did you see him?"

"He was alive the last time we saw him, Abbs," Gibbs said. "Keep going."

Abby sniffled but nodded. "Okay...so if we enter all these parameters into the computer and then..." She hit a button. "...and then wait, it should isolate the people we're looking for and we can follow them back in time when they go to their camp or whatever. Was he okay?"

"No, he was not," Ziva said. "That is why we are looking for him now."

Abby turned to glare but then stopped herself when she saw the tension in Ziva's expression. She was afraid. Abby got up and hugged Ziva tightly.

"We'll find him," she said. "I know we will because I'm here and I am the master of the machines...even if they're not mine."

Ziva laughed, and for once, returned the hug.

The computer beeped and Abby turned back to the computer quickly.

"Aha! I told you I was the master...mistress...whatever! I am it!"

"Let's see, Abbs."

They began to watch, first forward and then in reverse as they followed the group of men who had arranged themselves around the compound in their backwards trek over the dunes and back to a small encampment in the middle of nowhere.

"Bedouin," Ziva said. "They must be al-Hurram."

"What does that mean?" Abby asked. She looked at Tony who had said almost nothing, just content to watch and hope. "Is that good or bad?"

"I do not know, Abby. If they are who took McGee...it could be good. It is better than the men who took him. I do not know how safe he will be. Al-Hurram live the traditional lifestyle of the bedouin and they follow the traditional values of the bedouin. McGee could be treated as a prisoner, as a rescued guest...or they could have..."

"No!" Abby said. "No, you won't say that and it's not a possibility, Ziva. No!"

Ziva looked as though she would persist but instead she nodded and looked at Gibbs.

"They will no longer be where we see them now. If they attacked the compound, they will not wait around to be found. They will have moved on and we cannot know where they went until the storm is over. We are...stuck still. We still cannot know where McGee has been taken...if he is alive."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Imād positioned himself beside Tim as they reached Sharurah. Most of the group stayed outside the city. Suhayl, Imād and those carrying the litter headed for the hospital. It was important to get him to a well-equipped hospital, but Imād knew that Tim wouldn't survive the flight to Riyadh in his current condition. He needed to be stabilized first.

They hurried to the hospital and brought him inside. Suhayl spoke quickly to the nurse at the desk, telling him what he needed to know...and no more. Imād joined in to explain the medical side. When they uncovered Tim, the nurse sucked in his breath and exhaled a single word.

"Amrīqī."

"Na'am."

The nurse gestured and Tim was carried back to the emergency section for a surgery that wouldn't fix everything but allow Tim to survive the next leg of the trip.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a somber group waiting in MTAC for a report from Commander Keillor's SEAL team. They knew that Ziva was probably right and the bedouins would be gone, but they couldn't help nursing a feeble hope that the waiting would be over.

Finally, there was a call. Gibbs was instantly on his feet, putting on a headset.

"_Agent Gibbs?"_

"Yes."

"_We found the camp...what's left of it. They're gone, sir."_

"Any sign?"

"_Yes, actually. We found two more dead men here. They're not bedouin...but they're not American either. It appears that they moved on after getting attacked, probably by the same people they had attacked before."_

"Direction of travel?"

"_Sorry, Agent Gibbs. No sign survived the sand. Even now, we're at minimal visibility. They could have headed deeper into the desert in any direction. Once the sand settles, the satellites will track them, but until then, we have to wait. I'm sorry, sir."_

There was a collective exhale behind him. No words, just that loss of another hope.

"Thank you, Commander Keillor."

Gibbs disconnected and looked back at them. He said nothing.

What was there to say?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt strangely pain-free when he opened his eye...it was strange because he still felt plenty of pain, but he recognized a lessening of it, particularly around his abdomen.

"So you have survived so far, stranger."

Tim turned his head slightly.

"Suhayl. Where?"

"Sharurah, as I promised."

"What..." Tim trailed off when he realized that he didn't know what to ask.

"You are not...completely healed. Imād found that you had to have some help at the hospital first. They have arranged an emergency transport to take you to Riyadh as soon as the doctor approves you for travel. Imād and I will come to be sure that you are treated well...and do not face any difficulties due to your nationality."

The right side of Tim's mouth lifted in a smile.

"I would ask a favor of you."

"There's not much I can do."

"No, there is not. Samia wishes to speak to you, but she has not yet been able to do so."

"Of course."

"I will get her." Suhayl stood and walked out of the room.

Tim felt the lingering effects of whatever anesthetic they had given him, but he figured that was a good thing. The less he felt, the better. Riyadh. He'd never been there before.

The door opened and Samia came inside, followed by Suhayl. She walked to the bed and smiled at him and then gestured to Suhayl who knelt beside her and let her whisper in his ear. Tim watched with interest as Suhayl bent over to whisper in his daughter's ear. It was the first time that Tim had seen anything he would have identified as a familial connection between Samia and him...and yet, it was Tim's actions in trying to save Samia that had changed his status from prisoner to guest. He supposed that he just didn't see enough of their life to know how they showed love.

Samia came shyly to him. Suhayl lifted her easily so that she could look him in the eye.

"Thank you...Tim," she said carefully and then whispered to her father again who again whispered back. "...for safing...me." She looked at Suhayl. "Akāna sahīh, Bābā?"

"Na'am. Jayid jiddan, Samia."

She giggled, causing Tim to smile.

"Afwan, Samia."

"Thuhibi, Samia," Suhayl said and shooed her out of the room. Then, he looked at Tim. "Whom did you kill?"

"What?"

"Imād told me of your request for forgiveness...for families being killed. Whom did you kill?"

"Personally...no one," Tim said letting his gaze shift to the ceiling.

"Then, why do you feel such guilt?"

"I helped the people who _did_ kill them."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I wish to know what manner of man I have saved. Your actions do not correspond to your sense of guilt."

"I helped them because they threatened to kill me and my friends and family if I didn't. They had them all under surveillance, ready to take them out if I didn't do what they wanted. So...I did. I did what they wanted and I helped them find people who were supposedly terrorists. ...but they didn't just kill them...they killed their families." Tim closed his eye. "I watched children as young as Samia killed...just because they were there. ...and I did nothing...nothing but watch. Since then...too many people have suffered because of what I can do."

"You have not killed anyone?"

"No, I have. I killed people just last year. They had taken and were torturing my friends...trying to find out about me. I killed them in order to save my friends."

"Good."

"Good?" Tim opened his eyes again. "How can you say that?"

"You have killed no one who did not deserve it. You control no one but yourself, Tim. The bedouin know that only the self can be controlled. We live in the desert and what the desert decides we must accept. What God wills must be done. But I can choose what I do. You choose what _you_ do. You killed those who would have killed people close to you. Would you not have felt worse had they died?"

"I could have let myself be killed instead."

"Why?" Suhayl asked. "What good could have come from your own destruction? Do you truly believe that your death would have saved those whose deaths weigh so heavily on your conscience? Do you not think that another could have been found to take your place? Or do you have so much pride that you think you are the only one who could have helped them?"

Tim couldn't answer.

"No, Tim. Your guilt is because of what others have done. That is wasteful and useless. Do not let that become your thoughts." Suhayl looked at the clock on the wall. "We will leave in an hour. Rest."

After he left, Tim lay wondering at Suhayl's words...until the doctor came, checked him over and then gave him a sedative for the flight. He barely noticed Suhayl and Imād as he was loaded onto the plane. Before it was in the air, he was asleep.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The flight to Riyadh was under two hours, but it was only as they were beginning to land, Tim still asleep, that Imād thought beyond Tim being treated in a hospital.

"He must have family and friends, Suhayl."

"They do not know where he is. At least that is what he believes."

"I see no reason to doubt it."

Suhayl looked at the motionless figure behind them.

"Perhaps there is not. I will ask him when he awakens. If there is someone to call, he will tell us."

"Will you tell them that he is your prisoner?" Imād asked with a slight grin.

"He is not my prisoner, but he is under my protection and I will not leave until I am certain he will be secure."

"As you should. I do not suggest otherwise. However, his position in Riyadh may be...difficult."

"Not while I am here. He is one of us while under my protection."

Imād knew better than to contradict Suhayl when he spoke in that tone. It was the voice of command, not only of those around him but for the world at large. Perhaps it was a good thing he had decided to embrace the bedouin lifestyle rather than that of the West. The West was not ready for a man like Suhayl.

When the plane touched down, Tim began to stir and Imād hurried to reassure him.

"What..where are we?" he asked, his one eye opening slightly as he searched for something familiar.

"We have just landed in Riyadh, Tim. You will be at a hospital soon."

The eye closed and Tim exhaled heavily...and then winced at the strain, slight as it was. He looked tired, not as one who wished to fight anymore. Imād could see that Tim needed help from those he knew.

"Tim, what is your full name?"

The eye opened once more. "Timothy McGee."

"What is it that you do?"

"I'm...an NCIS...agent. That's the Naval Criminal...Investigative Service." He paused and breathed. "I...work with computers most of the time."

Imād looked at Suhayl who was clearly surprised by the answer. They had expected something else. What exactly, Imād wasn't sure, but it hadn't been an NCIS agent.

"Is there someone we can contact to let them know about you?"

"Know?" Tim asked, and Imād saw that his pupil was still a bit dilated from whatever they had given him. He wasn't all there.

Suhayl came over as the door to the plane opened.

"You said that people are looking for you, Tim. Who?"

"Oh. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. My boss. He's...an agent, too. Uh...NCIS Director Jenny Shephard...um...maybe the CIA Director Levi Carew."

They had heard of the CIA and knowing that Tim had some sort of link to the head of that agency was yet another surprise for them.

"Is there a number we may call?"

"No. It's...not safe. They...might...know."

Imād leaned over Tim to get his attention. "Is there no way to let people know where you are without...others knowing as well?"

Suhayl glanced at the men standing in the doorway of the plane. They obviously wanted to leave, but his look at them made them withdraw.

"Can...call a number. From before..." Tim's eye closed again, but this time in thought. Then, carefully, as if pulling the numbers from somewhere deep in his memory, he recited a string of ten digits. Imād noted them down and then nodded to Suhayl.

"We will contact them."

"May...not be there to...answer. Try more than...once. Cynthia is safe."

Suhayl allowed the men into the plane and Tim was moved. One reached out for the end of the stretcher, very near Tim's right foot. Suhayl grabbed his wrist.

"Lan tamass aqdāmahu. Kānat madrūba."

The man nodded quickly and adjusted his grip on the stretcher. Tim was quickly removed from the plane. Suhayl followed them and Imād came behind. After Tim was taken by ambulance, the two bedouin arranged other transportation and followed to the hospital. It was only when they were certain of Tim's admission and scheduled treatment that Imād dialed the number Tim had given him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cynthia was sitting at her desk, trying to work, trying not to worry about Tim's whereabouts.

Then, she actually jumped when the phone rang. Not just any phone. It was a ring she hadn't heard in more than a year...not since she had given Tim the phone number for the special secure line.

That line was ringing now. She almost answered it, but then waited. It rang and rang and then went to the message.

"_I am calling on behalf of Timothy McGee. I will call again in two minutes."_

There was a click. Cynthia quickly called the director's office.

"_Yes, Cynthia?"_

"Ma'am, you should come out here...in the next two minutes."

"_Why?"_

"To hear a message...about Agent McGee."

There was a brief silence and then the office door opened.

"What is it, Cynthia?"

Cynthia played the brief message.

"When?"

"Less than a minute ago."

Jenny nodded and sat down to wait. Cynthia regretted that the others were still at the CIA, but there was nothing to be done to get them here in time.

"Ducky," Cynthia suddenly remembered. "He's here."

Jenny nodded and disappeared into her office to call him up.

The phone rang again...on the special line. At Jenny's nod, Cynthia answered it.

"This is Cynthia Sumner. To whom am I speaking?"

"_Is this NCIS?"_ The voice was heavily accented but understandable.

"Yes. Who is this?" Jenny asked.

"_That is a different voice. Who are you?"_

"I am Jenny Shephard, the Director of NCIS. Who are you and how did you get this number?"

"_I am Abu Karīm Imād al-Tibb Ibn Khaldūn Ibn Suhayl al-Hurram. You may address me as Imād."_

Ducky came into the office, actually panting a little from his rush to come up.

"We have just been joined by Dr. Donald Mallard, a friend of Timothy McGee. What is that you want, Imād?"

"_I wish to tell you that Timothy McGee is in a hospital in Riyadh. You may come and retrieve him."_

"Is he all right?"

"_No. He is not. He is badly injured. It is only because we were able to get him to Riyadh that he still lives."_

"Wait, you said al-Hurram?" Jenny asked.

"_Yes."_

"You found him in the desert."

"_Yes."_

"We've been two steps behind you for days."

"_One never catches up to al-Hurram. ...unless we allow you to do so."_ There was amusement in the voice.

"You're now in Riyadh?"

"_As I said."_

"What happened to him?" Ducky asked.

"_He was tortured. For days it seems. He does not know how long."_

"He's been missing for over two weeks, almost three now."

"_That is not a long time, but enough."_

"What was done to him?"

"_Falaqa is the worst. It is..."_

"I know what it is," Ducky said. "Badly?"

"_Yes. Very bad. I do not know how much damage there is. He will not be walking for a long time, I think."_

"What else?"

"_There is...damage to his face. A lot. He was bleeding inside, but that...I hope...is now fixed."_

"Anything else?"

"_His arm was broken, more than once. I fixed it as best I could, but it may not have been enough."_

Ducky's expression was grave but hopeful. Jenny met his eyes and he nodded.

"_Will you come?"_

"Of course. We'll be there, Imād. I don't know how long it will take, but someone will come."

They got all the information on where Tim was and then hung up.

"Someone?" Ducky asked. "You know very well who will be going."

"Do you want to tell them or should I?" Jenny smiled but there was still concern in her expression. The list of Tim's injuries had been too serious for any real happiness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs' phone rang. He rolled his eyes and answered it.

"There's not much to see yet, still," Tony said, frustrated.

"We can still try," Abby said. "The temperature is dropping since the sun is going down. We can use infrared."

"There is not much chance. There is still too much sand in the air," Ziva said.

"We can _try_!" Abby insisted.

"We can, but if the sand is still too high in the air, it will not matter how hard we try!" Ziva said. "Is there not another option?"

"I...I don't know," Abby said, biting her lip. "I just don't know what else to try."

"Nothing," Gibbs said unexpectedly as he hung up his phone.

"What do you mean, Boss?" Tony asked. "We have to try _something_."

"No, we don't."

"Why not?" Ziva asked.

"Because...McGee is in a hospital in Riyadh."

The room became silent...except for the soft hum of the computers.

"A man called NCIS. McGee is alive and as safe as he can be...in Riyadh."

"This...had better not be a joke," Tony said.

"It's not. The number he called was one he could only have gotten from McGee."

"How are we getting there?" Tony asked.

"Where's your boss, Andrews?" Gibbs asked.

Andrews' mouth opened and closed.

"You know where his office is. Take us there."

It was to Andrews' credit that he didn't hesitate to obey, even if he was worried about what Carew might do to him. Gibbs was there...and the more dangerous of the two.

"This way, Agent Gibbs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Carew smiled as the whole crew trooped into his office. Andrews still looked uncomfortable...but less so than he might have done a few weeks ago. Actually, Carew thought this had been good for him. Interacting with a team like the MCRT had burned away some of his nerves. He had potential. It was good to know.

"Welcome, Agent Gibbs...and company. What can I do for you?"

"McGee is in Riyadh."

"And you need transportation?" Carew asked with a smile.

"You said that your resources were at our disposal," Tony said. "No deals."

Carew's smile grew larger. Of all of these people, Tony was the easiest manipulated in this situation. He had too much banking on finding Tim alive and well.

"And so they are. My pilots will have to file a flight plan, but we have connections with people in Riyadh. It shouldn't be difficult," he said and then decided to test a theory he had. "After all, it's in my best interests that Agent McGee comes back and regains whatever health he has lost in his absence."

Gibbs showed no reaction. So he already knew. The others looked confused and wary.

"What are you talking about? He doesn't work for you!" Tony said.

"Yeah, he works for NCIS and sometimes other people...but never the CIA," Abby said firmly.

Ziva stayed silent but _she_ looked at Gibbs and then at Carew and began to understand.

"Oh, this isn't the CIA's best interests. It's mine. Didn't he tell you about our deal?"

"What deal?"

"Carew," Gibbs said in warning.

"Didn't you ever wonder why Agent McGee had my help in rescuing you last year?"

"We asked...he never said," Tony admitted, almost reluctantly.

"He never said to us," Ziva corrected. "He told you, Gibbs."

"Yes."

"What?" Tony asked, looking at them both. "What do you know?"

Abby was keeping uncharacteristically silent, but she moved next to Tony and took his hand, almost in an attempt to keep him calm.

"Agent McGee made a deal. Your lives in exchange for his...help when I need it."

Tony looked at him for a moment and then suddenly lunged forward. Carew didn't flinch. He stood up quickly, ready to fend off the attack, but, as he had suspected, Gibbs grabbed Tony and pulled him back.

Tony regained control of himself almost instantly, but he glared at Carew.

"So you see," Carew continued as if there had been nothing going on, "I want Agent McGee back as much as you do. I'll give you access to my plane."

Tony swore at him.

"Unless you'd rather make your own way using the regular airlines. It can take more than a day's travel. Plus there's all the problems that can arise with passports and visas and just the regular government rigamarole...all of which you can avoid by taking a CIA plane."

"You..."

"Tony, knock it off," Gibbs said. He locked eyes with Carew. "It's not going to help."

"I'm not likely to withdraw my offer regardless of what Agent DiNozzo chooses to try, but I could not vouch for his continued well-being."

"You think a lot of yourself, don't you," Tony spat.

"I have every reason to," Carew replied. "Now, if you would like to go and pack a bag, I will call my pilots and let them know where they are headed and whom to call when the flight is ready. Is that amenable?"

"That will be fine," Gibbs said.

"Agent Andrews, if you could hang back for a few moments?"

"Yes, sir."

The others walked out.

"Sir?"

"How have you liked working with them?"

"It was...different, sir."

"Do you have the same disdain for NCIS that many of your fellow agents do?"

"Not anymore, sir."

"Good. Never underestimate them. ...and if you have them on your side, you're much better off."

"They're not on your side, sir...if you don't mind my saying so."

"Actually, they are. They just hate that they are. We are all on the same side. It's just that our methods differ. Any interest in joining NCIS?"

"I work for the CIA, sir."

Carew smiled. "No hard feelings if you choose to leave...at least not from me."

"Thank you, sir."

"That will be all."

"Yes, sir." Andrews turned to leave and then paused. "Sir?"

"Yes, Agent Andrews?"

"Why did you make the deal with him? Why not just help?"

Carew sat back and looked at Andrews appraisingly. He wasn't ready for the reality of high-stakes politics.

"Because in my position, the more people available at a moment's notice...the safer you are."

"Yes...sir." Andrews walked out, obviously unsatisfied by the answer.

There _was_ no answer that would satisfy someone like Andrews. Reality wasn't supposed to satisfy people. It just was and one had to try and eke out as much satisfaction as was possible.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You knew, Boss. You _knew_!" Tony said as they headed out of the CIA.

"Yes."

"For how long?" Ziva asked.

"Since last year."

"Why did you not tell us?"

"McGee didn't want to. He didn't want you to know because he knew you would be upset by it."

"Darn right, we would!" Tony said. "It's _wrong_, Boss!"

"Yes, it is. Can't do anything about it."

"You know what?" Abby said suddenly, interrupting whatever Tony had been about to retort.

"What?" Ziva asked.

"That's a really appropriate motto." She pointed to the engraved CIA motto on the wall.

"Why?" Tony asked.

"'And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.' That's kind of what they do, isn't it? They find what the truth is and use that..."

"To make _who_ free?" Tony asked.

"Tim doesn't lie to us now. Have you noticed that? He won't tell the truth, but he won't lie...not if he can help it. He tells as much truth as he can...and that's as free as he is. Now, we know more truth. Maybe he can be more free." Abby nodded at them and walked out of the building.

Tony looked at the motto one last time.

_We know the truth of where McGee is now. We're free to go help him now...with whatever we can._


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

In the end, it was decided that only the MCRT, plus Ducky, would go to Riyadh. Abby agreed only reluctantly after a look at the suggestions for fitting into society there. Abby wasn't the kind of person who fit in. Ever. Her tattoos, her clothing, everything just screamed non-conservative. She agreed not to come on the condition that they get Tim back to DC as soon as was physically possible. If not, she would fly out herself, and who cared what happened when they saw her pig tails, her tattoos and her tight Goth clothing. The only reason they decided to take Ducky was because he could function as a physician in a pinch. Maybe it would help get Tim back where he belonged sooner. Abby gave them all strict instructions about what Tim needed to hear from her when they arrived. She didn't insist on them relaying a kiss, but Ziva was under orders to hug Tim as tightly as he could stand when she got there.

The flight was long and uneventful. The CIA plane was nice, well-appointed and comfortable. They even managed to sleep, in spite of their worry and growing excitement. No matter how badly Tim looked, it couldn't be worse than not seeing him at all, than not knowing whether or not he was alive.

Right?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You'll have to go through customs, of course," the pilot said, "but I was given to understand that it would all be expedited and Director Carew made arrangements for your trip to the hospital."

Gibbs grunted noncommittally. He didn't want to owe Carew any sort of gratitude, no matter how much easier he was making this. He still saw Carew as ultimately to blame (along with himself) and the fact that he could do nothing about it grated. He looked at Tony and Ziva. They had both been a bit cool toward him since they had discovered not only Tim's deal but also Gibbs' concealment of it. He supposed he couldn't really blame them, but he wished he could have stopped Carew from saying anything. They didn't need that additional guilt right now. They didn't need to know what Tim had given up for them. Gibbs didn't like what Tim had given up, and part of him wished that he didn't know. It would be worse for Tony who had blamed Tim for their predicament and Ziva who had suffered both from the torture and from the knowledge that her pain was used to find out who Tim was. Neither needed the additional guilt from knowing that Tim had made a deal with Carew just to save them.

"These are your visas," the pilot continued. "They're good for a maximum of 30 days. I hope you don't need to be here for that long. We had to rush on these visas and...well..."

"What?" Tony asked.

The pilot looked at Ziva who smiled and nodded. "I understand. I will change." She took up her bag and headed for the lavatory at the back of the plane.

"What?"

"Ziva must not appear overtly foreign," Ducky said. "It is safer for a woman to appear in public in a conservative dress and head scarf rather than in her...typical fashion."

"Oh. What if she didn't?"

"She could be deported, arrested, flogged. The law of Saudi Arabia is based on _shari'a_ law."

"I knew that, I think. I just...didn't...think," Tony finished lamely.

"One rarely does until it becomes necessary to know it," Ducky said.

They waited for a few moments and Ziva returned, her usual casual figure concealed beneath the shapeless black dress, whose only adornment were some muted designs on the sleeves, her hair covered by a black head scarf. In essence, she had been transformed into a conservative Muslim woman...in appearance, at least. Her grin was unchanged.

"I thought you'd protest," Tony said when he saw what she was wearing.

"It would be foolish and dangerous to do so, Tony. I would rather wear this repressive garment and see McGee than have to remain behind and be comfortable in my own clothes. We are in another country. We must respect its laws." She turned to the pilot and held out a necklace.

"Please keep charge of this until we return. I do not wish to lose it."

The pilot accepted the necklace. "You're Jewish?"

She nodded. "I have had to conceal my religion on many occasions. This is for a good cause. I do not wish to make waves here. I simply want to see a friend."

"Thank you," the pilot said, obviously relieved. "I'll take good care of it. I'll make sure you get it back on your return."

Ziva only nodded silently.

"They are ready for you. Your bags may be searched," the copilot said, leaning out of the cockpit.

"We have nothing to hide," Gibbs said. "We're here to see a friend, nothing more."

"Just a warning."

"It is well-taken, I assure you," Ducky said quickly as he picked up his own bag. "We will be on our best behavior. Won't we," he added to Tony and Gibbs.

"Do I need to put on a costume, too?" Tony asked with wide-eyed innocence.

_Thwack!_

"Let's go."

It was quite the change when Ziva kept herself quiet, almost docile as they walked into the terminal. She went to the separate customs for women and submitted to the search of her bag. The passport she submitted was not her Israeli passport. That would have been foolish. ...but she had always carried a number of valid passports from other countries and one of these sufficed. She retrieved her passport and was met by Tony, Ducky and Gibbs. Outside the General Aviation Terminal, they found the promised escort. As they headed through the streets toward Riyadh, they all became quiet, privately fearing what they would see.

"How much further do we have to go?" Ducky asked the driver after a time.

"Not far. About fifteen kilometers more."

"Thank you."

Silence fell again.

Tony looked out the tinted window as they drove through the streets. It was a whole other world out there.

"How could he have ended up here?" he asked softly.

It was a rhetorical question...and no one tried to answer.

More silence.

"How long do you think it will take until we can get him home?" Ziva asked.

A pause.

"It depends entirely on how serious his injuries are...and they seem to be grave, if no longer life-threatening. These are issues we will take up with his physician."

Ziva nodded...silently.

"Here it is, on the left," the driver said.

It was a large hospital with a modern look to it. It was reassuring in a way to see something familiar, even if all that surrounded it was foreign.

They got out of the car when it stopped.

"I will wait for you. Tell the desk when you are finished with your visit and I will be out front."

Gibbs nodded and led the group inside the hospital. At the desk, they were relieved to find that the person spoke English. Ziva spoke Arabic and Gibbs understood it, but Tony and Ducky were not fluent. It just made things easier.

"You are lucky," the man said. "Visiting hours have just begun. You may go. He is in the third floor. Ask there and they will tell you his room."

"Thank you."

Again, they walked, still silent up to the third floor, to another desk. They again asked for Tim's whereabouts and were given his room number. ...and again they walked in silence. Their stride actually decreased. Now that they were so close to seeing Tim again, they were afraid it would be taken away at the last moment, and they were afraid of what they would see.

...what they saw first was not Tim. It was two men, barring the way to Tim's room. One man looked as though it would take something akin to a thunderbolt from heaven to move him. The other seemed more curious than threatening.

"Who are you and what do you want in this room?" the stern man asked.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby stared at the screen and then stared at the phone...and then began to pace back and forth. It was nearly killing her to have to stay behind. ...but there was more than one reason she had agreed to stay here rather than go. Yes, it would be hard to disguise her rather flamboyant style in an ultra-conservative country like Saudi Arabia, but she could have managed it...if she worked at it. No, the real reason was because she felt as though there were things that needed to be said and done with the MCRT, not with anyone else. Ducky had gone, but that was to guarantee some sort of medical presence on the trip back. Abby couldn't give that.

Ever since all that had happened in the year before, Abby had noticed that there were certain elements of life that distanced her from the others. At first, it had hurt to know it, but then, she began to understand that it was because of shared experiences. It wasn't an intentional exclusion. There simply were some things she couldn't understand, couldn't be a part of. So it was up to her to facilitate whatever was necessary to help them all get better. She hoped this would do it.

...because it was really hard to stay behind.

"Abby? Everything okay?"

The voice made her smile and Abby turned around and hugged Jimmy tightly.

"How did you know I needed someone to hug?"

"Um...Dr. Mallard said that I should look in on you in their absence. That's really what he said...almost exactly," Jimmy said, trying to adjust his glasses which had become dislodged from the force of Abby's hug. "I figured I could come in now and not get into trouble for it. So...everything is okay?"

"No, but it's better now," Abby said. "Just stick around, okay?"

"Sure...okay. I don't mind. Not at all. It's kind of...nice...being hugged by you. Doesn't that sound like a James Taylor song? Not that I listen to James Taylor. My mom does."

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and let me hug you."

"Okay."

Abby hugged him for a while.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Hug me back."

"Oh. Right." Jimmy put his arms around her and Abby decided that, while he wasn't perfect, Jimmy was a perfectly serviceable huggee.

"I just want them back."

"They'll be back. With them all going ...they'll be back."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Who are you? What do you want here?" the man demanded.

"We're here to see Timothy McGee. We were told he was in this room," Gibbs said. "Who are _you_?"

The other man looked at them all.

"It could be, Suhayl."

The man shook his head. "Your names," he said. "Tell me your names."

"I'm Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. This is Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Agent Lisa David, and Dr. Donald Mallard," Gibbs said, suppressing a smile at his intentional mispronunciation of Ziva's name. No sense in borrowing trouble, and that was what her passport said.

The man stared at them for a moment longer and Gibbs lost patience.

"Look, we've been searching for McGee for weeks. We've been worried and afraid he was dead! What gives you the right to keep us from seeing him?"

"Timothy McGee is under _my_ protection. Any injury that comes to him while that is the case is dishonor to me. I will not allow him to be hurt."

"Suhayl, these are his friends," the other man said.

"I have heard names, Imād. I have not seen proof."

Gibbs kept himself from rolling his eyes. He knew he should be grateful for the intentions of this man, but the fact remained that he was being kept from seeing someone he had feared was dead. He couldn't let the rigamarole go on much longer.

Quickly, he pulled out his ID. "Look! See? I am who I say I am and the rest of them are with me. Let us in! ...or do I have to move you myself?"

The man, Suhayl, was unintimidated by Gibbs' threat. He showed no interest in moving, but he did show a slight interest in determining the truth. The other man, Imād, seemed convinced, but he was not the one calling the shots, it seemed.

"I would like to see you try it sometime, gorba."

"Suhayl!" There was a definite note of reprimand in Imād's voice. "They have come many kilometers to see him."

Gibbs saw the moment Suhayl relented, but he didn't move out of the way.

"Do not touch his feet. They have been beaten. The slightest touch causes him pain. He has suffered pain enough for a lifetime. He is under my protection." The last sentence was a definite warning.

"We won't hurt him," Gibbs said.

...and apparently, he passed the test because Suhayl moved away from the door and allowed them to pass.

"We will wait out here and speak to you after you have seen him," Imād said. "You will have questions, but visiting hour is short and you must see him. He sleeps but will be happy to awaken."

Gibbs started to open the door when Imād touched his hand, holding him back only for a moment more.

"Do not be afraid of what you see."

Gibbs nodded and pushed open the door. They all walked inside and stopped in their tracks at the first sight of Tim. Gibbs saw no one else, but he could hear Tony's gasp for breath. Even Ziva exhaled loudly enough to be heard.

It was horrific. The left side of Tim's face was swollen, discolored and obviously distorted. His left eye couldn't even be seen because the lids were swollen shut. The large contusion was a dark red, mottled here and there with blues and greens. The right side of his face was better only because it was clear that his right eye could open. There were long shallow abrasions on his right cheek. His lip was split. There was a place where his hair had been shaved away and ugly black sutures testified of either a laceration or surgery. His left arm was in a sling and cast. His right arm was covered with bruises and strange-looking abrasions, possibly from sand. His torso and legs were covered by a blanket, but it was all too easy to imagine what that blanket hid from view. His feet were propped up and obviously placed with care. They were separated from each other about a foot and surrounded by soft blocks which seemed to protect from accidental jarring.

Worse than that, Tim himself seemed smaller, emptier...not himself. He was thinner, that was for certain, but even in sleep, his face was pinched with pain and pale. His breathing was shallow but even, supported by a nasal cannula and his heart rate was only slightly elevated.

Tony swore softly...but said nothing else.

It was Ducky who took the first steps toward Tim. He sat down beside Tim and gently took his right hand, careful to avoid the IV.

"Timothy," he said softly. "Wake up, lad."

The heart rate monitor increased its soft beeps as Tim shifted slightly and woke up. His right eye opened slightly and then drooped closed again. Then, it opened wide. Heart rate increasing.

"Hello, Timothy," Ducky said with a smile.

Tim let out a soft whimper but no word as he stared at Ducky, almost disbelieving. Gibbs walked forward into Tim's view and Tim's eye moved onto him.

"Boss..." The word was slurred, either from medication or from his injuries...probably both. "You...here..."

Ducky released Tim's hand and gestured for Gibbs to move closer. Then, he walked over to Tony and Ziva and pushed them forward so that Tim could see them as well. The movement caused Tim's eye to focus on them.

"Tony...Ziva...how..."

"We got on a plane, Probie," Tony said, but his voice was almost choked with unshed tears. "Even el Jefe has to give in to the laws of physics. Sometimes."

That elicited something almost like a smile on Tim's face.

"We are here, McGee," Ziva said. "We are here to bring you home."

Tim looked at Ziva, looked at Tony...and then back to Gibbs. His right hand reached out and Gibbs took it.

Tim looked at the hands and Gibbs felt Tim tighten his grip.

...and then Tim began to sob.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Tim cried for only a few minutes. Shaking quickly took the place of tears.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe you're here." Tim repeated the same two sentences over and over in his shaky, slightly drugged voice. He couldn't stop saying the words.

"We're here, Timothy," Ducky said...since no one else seemed inclined to speak. "We're here."

Tim's one working eye moved around and around, looking at them all. "How?"

"We were searching for you, McGee. We'd got to Saudi Arabia as your destination a couple of days ago, but we were too late to come in before the sandstorm," Gibbs said.

"You were coming?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, choosing to gloss over the fact that they might have been too late without the help of the bedouin. "Of course we were, McGee."

Tim was shaking, but his grip on Gibbs' hand was incredibly strong considering how he looked.

"...and...and you're okay?" Tim asked. "You're all okay?"

"Of course we are, McGee," Ziva said. "Why would we not be?"

Tim looked at Gibbs. "It's true? Everyone? Abby...Jimmy...you guys...the director...Cynthia? Everyone?"

"Of course, McGee," Gibbs said. "We're fine."

Tim's lower lip started quivering. "I was...I thought that...maybe...I..." He tried to sit up but winced before he'd moved even an inch.

"Don't worry, McGee," Gibbs said. "Everyone is fine."

"Well, except you, Probie," Tony pointed out. "You've looked a lot better."

A trembling smile, and Gibbs saw that one of Tim's teeth was chipped. "I'm sure I have. I don't...know what I look like...but I know how it feels."

"You look like your face has been through a blender."

_Thwack!_

Tim smiled a little more. "So...how long are you staying here?"

"Until you can leave with us," Gibbs said.

Tim's expression closed off and his eye looked away from them.

"McGee?" Ziva asked. "What is wrong?"

The door opened right then, admitting a physician. He looked at them all in a bit of surprise, his eyes lingering on Ziva for just a moment before he looked at Tim.

"You are all visitors?" He sounded more British than Arab, with just a trace of an accent.

Ducky nodded and stood up. "Yes. Timothy is a dear friend of ours. I am Dr. Donald Mallard. This is my niece, Lisa David. These other two men are Anthony DiNozzo and Jethro Gibbs."

The doctor nodded to them all. "I am Dr. Yousef 'Uthman bin Khalig Ali. You may call me Dr. Ali. It is much shorter."

"You're Timothy's doctor?"

"Yes, for the present."

"For the present?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yes. I have been responsible for his surgery and for the general physical care, but there is one area for which I am requesting a specialist who is coming from the King Khalid Eye Specialist Hospital."

"Will I be blind?" Tim asked, still holding tightly to Gibbs' hand.

"I cannot say, Timothy. I am sorry. That is why I have requested a special consultant. Your injury is old, has been repeated and left completely untreated. I do not know what kind of damage there may be. Bones in your face have been broken, particularly your cheekbone and the orbital is cracked, but as for the state of your vision in that eye, I cannot say."

Tim swallowed and nodded.

"What about the injuries for which he _has_ received treatment?" Ducky asked.

Dr. Ali nodded although his serious expression did not change. He looked at Tim now, not at anyone else, although it was clear that they were welcome to be a part of the discussion. Tony and Ziva sat down and Ducky moved to the other side of Tim's bed.

"We repaired the internal bleeding. It was not severe, but it had been going on for a long enough period that it could have been fatal left unchecked for much longer. Your broken arm will heal. It was a bad break but clean. Your cracked ribs did not fully separate and so you will feel pain but they, too, will heal, and given time, will heal fairly quickly. You have received numerous blood transfusions to replace that which you have lost. The bruises and cuts will heal."

Tim's eye shifted toward his feet. "And?"

"We have further tests to run on your feet to determine how bad the damage is."

"Nerve damage?" Ducky asked.

"It is possible. Even likely. However, whether that damage is permanent is not yet known. No matter the amount of damage, you will not be walking for a long time."

"Yeah. Thought so," Tim said softly. "I...I couldn't walk before. I tried, but I couldn't."

"What about moving him back to the States?" Gibbs asked.

Dr. Ali looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, that is yet to be determined. Certainly, you will not want to risk moving him before his damaged eye can be assessed. We have a good hospital here."

"Of course," Ducky said, before anyone else could ask. "Thank you. How much longer do we have before the visiting hour is over?"

"About forty minutes. You will be taken for an EMG and nerve conduction tests. I am sorry to say that they will cause you more pain than you may already feel, but they are necessary to determine the extent of the damage."

"And?" Tim said again.

"And we cannot determine what will come next without determining how much damage your nerves have sustained. The scans we have already done show multiple stress fractures in your feet. They will take time to heal. As much as six months."

"They beat my feet. A lot. With a metal bar," Tim said. "What are the odds that I'll heal?"

"I do not know the answer to that question," Dr. Ali said. "Be patient and allow us the chance to get the answers. Do not ask for what I cannot give you."

Tim nodded reluctantly...and let Gibbs' hand go. He lay back in the bed, his eye closing with exhaustion.

"We will delay the tests until after visiting hours so that you may speak with your friends."

"Thanks," Tim said softly.

Dr. Ali withdrew silently, leaving them alone. There was an awkward silence. Then, Tony spoke, looking at Tim's feet.

"Does it hurt, Probie?"

A single tear testified to the answer, whatever Tim chose to say.

"Yeah."

"A lot?"

"Yeah. I can't move my feet at all without them hurting."

"We'll have to make sure there are lots of pads on the plane."

Again, Tim looked away.

"What is it, Timothy?" Ducky asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so glad you're here," Tim said.

"McGee, what's going on?" Tony asked.

"It was really hard." Tim wouldn't look at any of them. His free hand lightly stroked the cast on his left arm.

"McGee," Gibbs said.

"Really hard," Tim said again.

"Talk to us, McGee," Ziva said. "Please."

"I thought I'd die in there...or else tell them what they wanted to know. I tried not to. I held back. Every time they hit me, I tried not to say anything. I just screamed. I did it until I couldn't take it and I said something. They asked my name first. I told them, but it took a few days. It just hurt so much."

"Hey, Probie, besides the obvious, what's going on?"

"I only told them my name. That's all. They already knew my name. I told them that, but I only told them so that I could fight longer. I just had to say something. I had to say one thing that they wanted to hear. I had to... It really hurt. Every time he swung that bar. I could hear it just before it hit. It whistled in the air. I could hear it."

"Tim," Gibbs said gently. "Tim, what is it?"

Tim's eye moved up and looked at Gibbs. He was silent for a few seconds and then it came out.

"People died for me. Again. I don't want that to happen anymore."

"Who?"

"A man opened the crate they stuck me in. They shot him in the head. Those people at my apartment. Geoff died. I watched him fall. I killed at least one of them. How many others will die for me? How many more times can I do this before it kills me?"

"What are you saying, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"I was wrong. They were right. I was wrong. I can't live my life. I can't be out in the world. For everyone's sake, I have to be apart."

"Apart?" Tony echoed.

Tim's eye went back to his lap.

"I'm going to give myself up. I'm going to let them take me. I'm tired of this happening. I'm tired of being important. I'm tired of being valued more than anyone else. I'm tired of fighting. I'm so tired." Tim tried to shift position and whimpered as he accidentally shifted his feet as well. "I'm tired of hurting," he said through clenched teeth as another tear made its solitary way down his cheek. It hovered on his jaw before dripping down to vanish in the blanket.

"No, McGee, you can't do that," Gibbs said.

"Yes, I can," Tim said, suddenly sounding stronger. He forced himself into a sitting position, eye closed and teeth clenched tightly as he moved a body which had gone through too much to tolerate the movement. Then, he opened his eye again, releasing more tears of pain. "I can. I will. As soon as I can leave, I'm going to tell them that I don't care what they do with me. They can put me in a little room and leave me there for the rest of my life. I don't care. Just keep me from everyone. Just keep everyone from getting to me. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to...to... I don't want to live when it only means pain for me and anyone who might be near me."

His shaking grew more pronounced and Ducky slipped a strong arm around Tim's shoulders and eased him back down.

"Just rest now, Timothy. We have time enough to worry about that. You're safe. We're here. You're protected."

Tim's eye closed. "But who's going to protect you?"

Ducky met Gibbs' worried gaze and smiled. "Sleep, Timothy. Heal. You have time for it."

Tim didn't reply, but no one spoke. Tim's declaration had shocked them into muteness.

"Don't...let them...hurt me again," Tim mumbled and finally relaxed into sleep.

He escaped from the world into the security of his dreams. Bitter they might be, but they were familiar and could cause him no more pain than he had already experienced.

...the same could not be said for reality.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The next time Tim awoke, he was alone. That was to be expected. The only reason he was sure that he really _had_ seen his friends was the fact that someone (probably Tony) had written all over his cast. No one he had met in Saudi Arabia would have done that. So they _had_ been here. They _had_ spoken to him...and they did want to help him, even though he was more convinced than ever that no one could. Only complete and total isolation would protect him and the world from the damage that came as a result of Timothy McGee living.

The door opened and Imād came in, accompanying Dr. Ali.

"What's going on?" Tim asked.

"It is time to conduct the tests on your feet to see how much damage has been done," Dr. Ali said.

"I thought visiting hours were over."

Imād smiled. "I thought you might like to see someone you know...even a little...and I am a doctor."

Tim managed a weak smile. "This is going to hurt?"

"If your feet were not badly damaged, it would only hurt briefly, but I'm afraid that your sensitivity to pressure means that you will be in pain through most of the test," Dr. Ali said. "I am sorry for that, but it is the only way to determine how badly your feet are damaged."

"How long will it take?"

"There are two tests: nerve conduction velocity and EMG. Both have to be done on both feet. They will probably take between ninety minutes and two hours all together."

Tim nodded. He wanted to cry already. He could feel the ache everywhere. They had given him some painkillers, but not enough to get rid of all the pain. They rolled him to the examination room and set up the test. Each of the electrodes placed on the soles of his feet caused him pain because of the sensitivity he already felt. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Are you ready?"

"No, but let's do it anyway." He managed a tremulous smile.

"You will feel a brief electrical impulse."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two hours later..._

Tim was still trembling and sweating when they rolled him back into his room. He now knew _exactly_ where he felt the most pain on his feet...and that his right foot hurt more than his left foot. He knew that there were small sections of his feet that didn't hurt at all, and others that needed only the brush of air to send waves of agony through his body.

He knew all that and that he could hold back the desire to scream for at least two hours. He hadn't screamed once, although he had cried and held Imād's hand, no matter how wussy he felt about doing so.

"We will analyze the results of the tests and let you know as soon as possible," Dr. Ali said.

"Th-thanks," Tim managed to say.

"I know it does not seem so, but that you can feel this pain is a good thing. It means that the nerves have not been severed but are, instead, damaged and can regenerate. It will take a long time, and you will require both therapy and medication to manage the pain, but it is possible, even likely that you will heal...in time."

"In time," Tim echoed.

"Yes. Speaking of time, the ophthalmologist will be here soon to examine your eye and determine what treatment will be necessary during reconstructive surgery."

Tim nodded.

"I will let you take time to recover before he arrives."

"Dr. Ali?"

"Yes?"

"I know...that it's after visiting hours, but would it be possible...possible for one of my friends to be here during the examination?"

"It will not likely be so painful."

"Not physically."

"I see."

"I know it's outside normal hours...but who knows? I might be blind in that eye. Please, Dr. Ali, don't make me face that alone."

"Your friends left a number?"

"Yes."

"I will call. Only one may come. It would not be appropriate for more...and not the woman."

"Okay. I don't care who it is. They're all my friends."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What are we going to do about this, Boss?" Tony asked, pacing back and forth in the room. "McGee can't...can't give himself up, not even to _our_ government. He doesn't deserve that!"

"Perhaps it is a good idea," Ziva said, quietly. "Look at what has been done to him. Does he deserve _that_?"

"Of course he doesn't!" Tony said.

The phone rang and Gibbs strode over to answer it as the argument continued.

"Then, how do you suggest that we protect him, Tony?" Ziva demanded. "What can we do? Nothing we have tried in the last four years has helped. Nothing! Every time someone has gone after him, they have succeeded. He has been taken. He has been hurt! How many more times can he take it before it is too much?"

"There's got to be something more we can do! Something more than just locking him away like _he's_ the criminal! That's not going to help! He said himself that he didn't think he could take that."

"Perhaps he has decided that it's better than the alternative. If so...we can hardly begrudge him the option," Ducky said. "We want what is best for him, not what we have decided is best."

"And you think that giving himself up is the best thing for him?" Tony demanded.

Ducky sighed. "I don't _know_ what is best, Anthony. I wish I did. What can possibly become the _best_ thing for someone in Timothy's shoes? He has been beaten and tortured. He has seen people die for him. Telling him that the world is a better place for him...what evidence will you bring to bear on that statement?"

Gibbs hung up the phone. "I'm going to the hospital."

"Why are we going to the hospital, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Not we. Me."

Mass outcry.

"Hey!" Gibbs said loudly. "They're only letting one person go. Ziva can't because she's female. Ducky is playing her chaperone. Tony, you're not going. That leaves me. He's getting news on his eye, and he doesn't want to face that alone. The doctors have allowed him one visitor while he is getting that news. I'll go and then come back here and tell you. That's the end of it." He grabbed a room key, his ID, his visa and walked out the door.

Tony sank down onto the bed.

"I thought that when we found him things would be better."

"They're better for Timothy," Ducky said, sitting down on one side. "He's no longer a prisoner. He's getting the treatment he needs."

Ziva sat down on the other side. "And he has us to help him see...what is still good in this world." She smiled. "Because there must be something he can hold onto...even if it is only us."

Tony laughed.

"We are better than nothing. Are we not?"

"I hope so," Tony said.

"We are," Ducky said, firmly. "We are."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was surprised to see Suhayl still sitting in the hallway outside Tim's room when he arrived. Suhayl said nothing but nodded solemnly to Gibbs as he walked by. He wanted to ask what Suhayl was doing there and why he was allowed, but thought better of it and just knocked on the door.

"Come in."

His first sight of Tim was one of renewed shock at his appearance. Even after all that had happened, seeing Tim so...so disfigured was hard to take in. From the swollen and damaged eye to the missing tooth, Tim just looked so foreign to Gibbs' mental conception of him that it was like looking at a stranger.

Right now, though, there was an additional issue. Tim looked more shaky than he had a few hours ago.

"What's wrong, McGee?"

"That...test they did...on my feet." Tim tried to smile. "It hurt. A lot."

"Was it necessary?"

"Yes. Unfortunately. They say that...that my feet will heal eventually, but it will take time. A long time."

Gibbs sighed and walked over to the bed. "I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim's eye closed and he nodded. "Me, too."

"Dr. Ali said you wanted someone here?"

"Yeah. I don't want to...maybe find out that I'll be blind in that eye...not by myself. Not if I don't have to."

"You don't. I'll be right here."

"Thanks, Boss." Tim reached out and grabbed for Gibbs' arm as the door opened. Gibbs looked at Tim's hand and noticed the abrasions and the bruises, plus the bandages on the wrists, likely from whatever restraints had been used on him. He put a gentle hand over Tim's and was rewarded by a quick inhalation. Gibbs didn't make a habit of praying but he sent a silent one up to heaven that Tim wouldn't have to face partial blindness in addition to everything else. Not being able to see out of one eye didn't mean debilitation, but in Tim's current state, that wouldn't matter. He knew it and the tightness of Tim's grip on his arm said it all.

"Mr. McGee, I am...Dr. Khouri," the man said, his accent thicker than Dr. Ali's had been. "I am an ophthalmologist and I must examine your eye and the fracture around it to see how much repair is needed."

"He had an x-ray already."

Dr. Khouri nodded. "Na'am. Yes. I must also see and determine the...amount of damage to the eye itself as well as how much...displacement there is in the orbital. It is possible that the eye itself has been damaged and you may be blind. It is also possible that the eye has been moved or damaged in such a way that it may heal. With the age of the injury and the length of time without help, it is impossible to say right away what will be the case with you."

"When _will_ you say?" Gibbs asked.

"As soon as I am able to complete my examination. Now, if you are ready."

Tim nodded. "Yes. I'm ready."

"Very well. It may hurt."

"I'm used to that."

Dr. Khouri smiled. "It will not hurt much or for very long. But I must see what the position of your...eyeball is now. When I raise the lid, if the eye is not damaged too much, you may see light. Even if it is not seriously damaged, you will not be likely to see more than light, perhaps a smear of something else. Do not be disappointed if all you see is a little bit of light. You have not used this eye in two weeks. It has not seen light, not been functioning as it should. So it will not begin right away to function as it did."

"Okay," Tim said.

"You are ready?"

"Yes. Go ahead."

Gibbs felt the hand on his arm tighten even further, but other than that, Tim did nothing as Dr. Khouri approached and placed practiced hands lightly on the swollen portion of Tim's face. Tim winced and let out a soft whimper, involuntarily pressing his head back into his pillow.

"I am sorry," Dr. Khouri said softly. "Now, I am going to lift your eyelids to see the placement of your eye. This is when you may see some light."

"Okay."

Carefully, Dr. Khouri placed one finger on Tim's lower lid and one on the upper lid. With as little pressure as possible, he pulled the swollen lids apart, revealing Tim's left eye for the first time in days.

Tim's hand spasmed against Gibbs' arm and then he resumed his white-knuckle grip.

"I can see!" he said, his voice a whisper but full of relief...and what might almost be excitement. "I can see...only light, but I can see."

Dr. Khouri smiled. "That is good."

He gently let the lids move back, covering the eye. Gibbs looked in concern at Dr. Khouri. He was no ophthalmologist, but that hadn't looked right to him. Dr. Khouri caught his gaze and nodded slightly.

"There is significant displacement of the eye because of the fracture of the orbital and the zygomatic arch. It will take surgery to repair the damage, but it is...possible that you will fully recover."

"Only possible?" Tim asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I cannot say until we are certain that the eye can be securely replaced in the orbital cavity. However, I have performed many surgeries in my career and I am certain that we will be able to do so. You may find that your eye has...become changed in shape. You may need corrective lenses in order to see clearly, but that is a small thing and easy to do."

"When will the surgery be?" Gibbs asked.

"As soon as it can be scheduled," he said. "That will be perhaps one day. Perhaps two days from now. We do not want to delay."

"No."

"Good. We will arrange a transfer from here to the King Khalid Eye Specialist Hospital as soon as possible. You will be told. It will take some time, but you will know. Do you have any other questions?"

"No."

"Very well. I will begin making arrangements."

Something about the way he spoke made Gibbs curious...maybe even suspicious. He watched Dr. Khouri leave the room and then he paused and looked at Tim who had the look of someone still trying to process it all.

"McGee, can you wait a second?"

"Sure, Boss..." Tim laughed a little. "Where am I going to go?"

"True. I'll be back."

"Okay."

Gibbs hurried out into the hall and found Dr. Khouri speaking with Suhayl, so rapidly in Arabic that Gibbs had a hard time following the conversation. He waited and when Dr. Khouri noticed him, he nodded to Suhayl and walked down the hall without a backward glance.

"What's going on?" Gibbs demanded.

"Business," Suhayl said shortly.

"What business? Tell me what you're doing."

Suhayl stiffened at the insult. "I am ensuring that Tim gets the medical treatment he needs."

"What?"

"It is required that you pay for services."

"We weren't going to skip out on the bill."

"No..._before_ treatment is given. It is expected. I am paying."

"You? Why?"

"You are not from here; so I will not respond to your insult as I should. Tim saved the life of my daughter. I owe him a debt and he is my guest. It would dishonor my family were I to leave him behind, leave him to fight against a system he does not understand. I will stay until I am certain that he is able to leave here and be safe again."

"You don't need to pay."

"Yes, I do. It falls on me to pay. Besides, you are Americans."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that there are risks involved in treating you, in dealing with you in any capacity. I am bedouin. I am trusted. You are not. They will let me stay because I give them no other option, but they are not offended. You will not stay because if you insist, it will be because you are American and have no respect for the ways of us here."

Gibbs nodded, understanding coming to him finally.

"It could be weeks."

"I have been away from my family for longer. I have been to your Western schools. I have lived in the West. You need my presence whether you believe it or not. The news is good for Tim?"

"I think so. He's not blind, but his eye is sunken down in his head. It's going to take some major surgery, I think."

"Yes, that is what Dr. Khouri said. Major surgery and expensive surgery."

"No offense, but can you afford it?"

"Yes." No elaboration was given, and Gibbs understood that asking would be an additional insult. "They will not kick you out immediately. You may go back and speak with him." There was a faint suggestion of a smile.

"Thank you."

No words, only a slight inclination of his head and then Suhayl sat back in his position in the hallway. A guard of sorts. Gibbs went back into the room. Tim's eye was closed. The sight of Tim's left eye, sunken into his head, bloodshot...If he had seen only that, he would have assumed that there was no hope, but it seemed as though there was a chance that all would be well, maybe even a good chance.

"McGee?"

"I'm not blind," Tim whispered.

"Nope."

"That's...the...third good thing that's happened to me in the last...month."

"What are the others?"

"Suhayl finding me...and you guys coming. Can't think of anything else right now."

"That's all right. You don't have to."

Tim opened his eye. "I can't do this anymore, Boss."

"Do what?"

"Fight. Struggle. ...did you know that...that Muslim actually means 'one who submits'...meaning submits to God? Did you know that?"

"Yeah."

"Willing submission to a higher power."

"That's not what you're doing."

"Yes, it is. The higher power just isn't God. I'm submitting to the power of life. Life has too much that it's brought on me. I can't fight that anymore. I'm submitting."

Gibbs wanted to argue, wanted to tell Tim that he was wrong, that there was so much more for him to do, options they hadn't used yet. ...but he couldn't, not right now. Tim wanted to submit... Well, he would just have to choose his battles and make sure that the ones he fought were the ones he won.

"The others will be glad that you're not blind," he said, sitting beside Tim again.

Tim nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek again.

"I just can't do it, Boss."

Gibbs took hold of Tim's unbroken arm.

"We're not leaving you alone, Tim. Whatever happens. You're not alone."

Tim closed his eye and didn't reply. After a few minutes, Dr. Ali came and asked Gibbs to leave. Gibbs nodded and stood up, just before he left, he turned back.

"McGee?"

No response.

"You're _not_ alone."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Gibbs got back to the hotel in good time and gave the news that Tim was not likely to be blind. He also told them about Suhayl's generosity and insistence on paying for all of Tim's medical care. They reacted much as he had but accepted that was how things had to be. There was little else they could do for the rest of the day and none of them felt any interest in seeing the sights of Riyadh. They ate room service and then turned in early.

...or at least they all _appeared_ to turn in early. Ducky had a suspicion that Gibbs would not be doing that...and that meant he wouldn't either.

And sure enough, not one hour had passed since they had all gone to their respective rooms that there was a soft tapping on the adjoining room door. He walked over and opened it.

"I had a feeling you wanted to speak with me, Jethro. Come in."

"This isn't going away, Ducky," Gibbs said without preamble.

"What isn't?"

"McGee...he's given up, and I can't let that happen."

"Perhaps it would be for the best," Ducky said, knowing that wasn't true, but knowing it also needed to be addressed. "Timothy feels it is."

"That's because he's spent the last three weeks being tortured, Ducky!" Gibbs said angrily. "He spent three weeks thinking that he was going to die a slow agonizing death. He was being tortured because of what he knows...and it's not something he can forget! Of course he's going to feel that hiding is the best option, but we can't let that happen...not like he wants it to."

Ducky furrowed his brow. "Not like he wants it to?" he repeated. Gibbs, because he was often so taciturn, rarely said a word he didn't mean to say. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we need to find a place where McGee can recover from this, someplace where our illustrious leaders can't find him and take him. ...and it can't be here. It's only a matter of time before they'll twig to the fact that we know where he is and they'll start demanding that they take protective custody again."

"Again, Jethro, perhaps it would be best."

"No!"

"Why not? What arguments can you bring to bear on it?"

"Because if McGee disappears, it's for good. No seeing his family. No life of his own."

"You don't know that."

Gibbs didn't bother responding to Ducky's declaration. "And he won't be able to take it. It will be too much like a prison, no matter how nice it looks."

"Wouldn't any situation match that description?"

"No. It wouldn't. Not if McGee knew he was safe."

"It has been proven, Jethro, time and again, that nowhere is completely safe. It's impossible."

"Maybe not completely, but we could get the next best thing."

"What is that?" Ducky asked. "You must have something in mind, Jethro, or else you wouldn't have suggested it."

Gibbs locked his gaze on Ducky. "The CIA has already demonstrated that they have safe houses that are secure, even from law enforcement."

Ducky stood up. "Jethro, you're out of your mind! Timothy would _never_ accept their help. Isn't it enough that he has to live at the beck and call of Director Carew?"

"Carew wants McGee free. He wants him safe and he wants him free from the rest of the organizations," Gibbs said, not backing down. "If he wants that, then he has to be willing to take steps to achieve it."

"It doesn't _matter_, Jethro! Timothy has been so adamantly against accepting any aid from the CIA that he has refused even recommendations for psychiatrists! His distrust of them borders on paranoia and not without reason. No matter how safe he could be, he would _not_ feel safe knowing he was enjoying the hospitality of the CIA."

"Then, he won't know about it."

Ducky shook his head. "Jethro, this is a dangerous game you're playing. Dangerous and foolhardy. After all you told me about Timothy's lack of trust of _anyone_, you're willing to sacrifice the trust he has in you to join forces with the CIA? With Carew?"

"It's not a game, Duck. It's McGee's life. He needs the time to recover. He won't survive without that. We can't protect him that way, not in DC, not as NCIS. Too many people want to control him."

"Including the CIA."

"No! Not the CIA. Because Carew knows what McGee is capable of and he also knows how McGee works. Why he knows that is beyond me, but he does. He knows that if he tries to take control of McGee, he'll lose him completely. He knows that it's going to take time for McGee to recover. He knows that in order to call on McGee later, he has to have now."

Ducky looked at Gibbs almost with alarm. He would not be swayed. That seemed obvious. The best he could do was try to ameliorate the possible repercussions.

"Don't make a deal with him, Jethro. I have spent a lot of time analyzing our interactions with Director Carew, and you can't make a deal with him. If you can get his help, I still disagree with your choice, but do _not_ get his help at the expense of giving him yet another hold over us. He has Timothy and he knows that if he has Timothy, he has the rest of us as well. He knows this. It's patently obvious by how we interact. You cannot give him another way to control us...not even slightly."

"I won't. I won't have to."

"You're very confident."

"I know."

"Jethro...if you're wrong..."

"I'm not. You're not the only person who's been studying him."

"If you'd already made up your mind, why ask me?"

"To see if you could come up with any problems I hadn't already thought of."

"And?"

"You haven't." Gibbs sat down on the bed. "I've thought about this, Ducky. It's not something I'm doing without plans. McGee would not be in this position if I hadn't asked him to hack the CIA five years ago. Since then, his life has been miserable...because I was so determined to find something that I didn't stop to think about what might happen as a result. McGee deserves to have the time to recover. If he still feels the same way when his feet have healed, when he can see clearly again, then I can't fight that...but he's _not_ seeing things clearly right now. ...and I can't let him destroy himself. Everyone else seems to be trying too hard to do the same thing and I won't let that happen."

Ducky sat back and stared at Gibbs for a few moments, deciding what he was going to do. Would he throw in his voice on Gibbs' side against the inevitable protests from Tony and Ziva? Or would he remain silent? Or would he join in the fight against what Gibbs was going to do?

What choices did they have, really? Tim was in such a state that he couldn't possibly be expected to make a rational decision. He was tired of trying. He was tired of facing the consequences of his skills. He could not face it right now.

Finally, Ducky sighed.

"When are you going to call him?"

He could have sworn that Gibbs looked relieved at the question and all it meant.

"Right now."

"Without talking to the others?"

"Yes." Gibbs's eyes dared Ducky to protest.

He didn't. He just watched Gibbs walk out of the room, phone in hand. Right as the door closed, he heard Gibbs speaking.

"I need to speak to Director Levi Carew. No, I will not wait. You will tell him that Special Agent Gibbs is on the line."

The door closed. Ducky sighed and smiled, although with a lot of worry. It seemed too risky...but there was no stopping Gibbs when he made a decision.

"Oh, dear."

As he sat, wondering what to do, Ducky realized that no one had yet called back to DC and reported on Tim's status. He supposed it was his role as much as it was anyone else's.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony and Ziva sat facing each other in the room, not speaking. They hadn't said a word since ostensibly going to their individual rooms to sleep. Ziva had knocked on Tony's door and simply sat down on the bed. They had been sitting in silence for well over an hour, not feeling the need to speak, just wanting to have some companionship.

Finally, Tony smiled.

"You know what sucks the most about being in Riyadh?"

"What?"

"Alcohol is illegal."

Ziva laughed a little.

"I am certain that it is possible to purchase it _illegally_, but I would not recommend attempting it."

"No. Not now. Maybe next time. ...during Spring Break."

Ziva nodded. "Yes, this is a real tourist destination."

"It's something I can cross off my bucket list."

"Your...what?"

"Bucket list. You know...Jack Nicholson, Morgan Freeman. They play two old guys dying of cancer and they have a list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket."

"Why do they not just kick a bucket first?" Ziva asked, her mouth twitching just a little.

"Die, Ziva...before they... Hey! You know what that means!"

Ziva chuckled. "I do, but I have not ever heard of a bucket list."

"How many other idioms do you get wrong on purpose?"

"That is for you to find out, not for me to tell."

They both laughed for a few seconds and then the silence descended again.

"This can't be it for McGee, Ziva. It can't. He's younger than _I_ am."

"You are not so young. ...and neither is he."

"That's not what I mean. Look at Ducky! He's pushing seventy and still having a great time. McGee can't lose all that. He can't do that. He can't give up the next forty...fifty years."

"Ducky was able to live for those years. Will McGee?"

"Yes. If I have to make it happen."

"What if you cannot?" Ziva asked, totally serious.

Tony looked at his hands. "McGee was willing to give up his life and his freedom to save us. The least I can do is be willing to give up the same thing...to save him."

"We do not need martyrs, Tony."

"No...but..."

"And we did need McGee to save us."

"And now we need to save him. Even if it's from himself."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When her phone started ringing, Abby screeched and grabbed Jimmy's arm. She'd coerced him into keeping her company while she stared at her phone, waiting and hoping for news.

"Ducky! Ducky! Ducky! Is he okay? What's going on? How are things? When are you coming back?"

"_Abigail, you must let me get a word in edgewise."_

"Sorry. I've been waiting so long! ...and so has Jimmy."

"_Ah, is Mr. Palmer there with you?"_

Jimmy grinned at Abby. "Yes, Dr. Mallard. Abby threatened me with handcuffs if I tried to leave."

Abby smacked him.

"Ow!"

"_Yes, it sounds like things are going swimmingly for you."_

"What about Tim?" Abby asked.

"_He's been badly injured, Abigail. They're going to operate on his eye..."_

"On his EYE?" Abby screeched.

"_Abigail."_

"Sorry. Sorry."

"_He suffered from fractures in his cheekbone and around his eye. His eye has become displaced and requires surgery. They think they'll be able to fix it, but we have no way of knowing, at this point, just how long it will take for Timothy to recover enough to fly. We can't rush it."_

"I know. He's going to be okay?"

"_I hope so."_

"Me, too. It's not fair, Ducky. This is all completely unfair."

"_Yes, it is. I will make sure we keep you updated. You will inform Director Shephard?"_

"Yeah. We will."

"_Good. It's getting late here, Abigail. I must be getting to bed."_

"Okay. Thanks for calling, Ducky."

"_My pleasure."_

"Good night."

"_Good afternoon."_

Abby disconnected and hugged Jimmy tightly. "What does that mean, Jimmy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ducky said surgery on his eye and fractures in his face. ...but he didn't say anything else! What does it mean?"

Jimmy shrugged. "It means that the surgery is the most serious thing and that's going to work out. Whatever else is wrong...well, he doesn't want to tell you."

Abby blinked and then smacked him again.

"Ow! Hey, you asked!"

"You weren't supposed to answer like that!"

Jimmy glared. "Then, don't ask!"

Abby just hugged him again. "I'm glad you're still here, Jimmy."

"Glad I could help...I think."

"You _are_ glad...and so am I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs, being Gibbs, was demanding enough that he was put through rather quickly to Director Carew.

"_So Agent Gibbs, what can I do for you?"_

"We need to talk, Carew."

"_About what?"_

"About what you're willing to do for McGee."


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Carew smiled at the demanding voice on the other end of the line. Sometimes, it was refreshing to speak to people who were very clear about what they wanted and why. No hidden agendas, just a demand, a plea, a request. Whatever it was, they were clear about it. In the arenas in which the CIA typically operated, clarity was a precious commodity...particularly for the director of the CIA. He may have fully accepted his position and he may even enjoy it at times, but Carew also relished every chance he had to interact with NCIS, even if he was held in such low esteem there.

"About what I'm willing to do for Agent McGee? In what respect?" he asked.

"_I need a place to put him where he won't be found."_

Carew began typing queries into his computer, although he didn't say anything about that. He just began getting more information. "By whom?"

"_Everyone."_

"Including or excluding NCIS?"

"_Excluding some."_

"A select few, I take it?"

"_Yes."_

"I see. And why is this necessary?"

There was a pause.

"Because I was given to understand that aid from the CIA, particularly from myself, was not welcome."

"_It's not...but that doesn't mean it's not needed."_

Carew knew that it must be serious if Gibbs was coming right out and saying that.

"What am I to expect from this necessary aid?"

"_Nothing."_

"Nothing?" Carew asked.

"_You heard me. You've already got McGee. You need him and you need him to be free and clear in order to use him. He won't be if he goes back to DC. He's already decided that he's going to give himself up to protective custody. I'm not going to let that happen."_

That surprised Carew, even if he didn't show it. Tim must be in a bad way if he was willing to give up his freedom...or rather give up his freedom in exchange for his own safety. He had a hard time believing that was the only reason for Tim's intentional self-sacrifice.

"And what do you expect me to do about this? I can hardly change Agent McGee's mind for you. I highly doubt my opinion is valued to that degree."

"_It's not. You've already proved to us before that you can hide out nearly anywhere and that the CIA has safe houses all over the country. I need someplace to put McGee until he's in a state of mind to think clearly."_

"And if he still feels the same way?"

"_Unlike you, I won't force him to do something he doesn't want to do. If he's adamant then I'll let him go."_

"Just like you're letting him choose now?"

"_He's not really choosing right now. He's letting his pain choose for him...and that's no better than being forced into something."_

"I see...and your decision to ask for aid from someone you know he would reject out of hand?"

"_Look, Carew, can you help or not?"_

Carew sat back and looked at his computer. It was a new property they'd acquired, one of the "hiding in plain sight" locations he personally was fond of. On TV, it was so cliche to have the spooks hiding out in abandoned warehouses packed full of machinery or in secret underground bunkers. Carew enjoyed the opportunity to buck that trend. Certainly, they had their share of places like that, but it was so nice to have a secret hideout with a good view.

"Do you have any particular locale in mind?"

"_No. Just somewhere that McGee can be safe and not be imprisoned. It would be nice if it wasn't rundown. He's going to be a long time recovering from his injuries."_

"You may just be in luck, Agent Gibbs."

"_Meaning?"_

"Meaning that we have recently purchased a lovely piece of property that will suit your needs. More than suit them, in fact."

"_What's the catch?"_

"Well, it is in Idaho."

"_Idaho?"_

"Yes, that state somewhere between California and New York?"

"_I know where Idaho is, thank you. Why there?"_

"Why not? The paperwork has only just gone through. The people selling were relieved to have a buyer, not that they knew they were selling to the CIA, of course. They just wanted to get a piece of property off their hands that no one else would buy."

"_Why wouldn't anyone else buy it?"_ Gibbs asked, sounding wary now.

"Because its listed price was over a million dollars. In that particular region, people don't spend that much money on a house. You can get a lot for much less."

There was a moment of silence and Carew was quite certain that Gibbs was surprised, perhaps even a bit shocked.

"_You bought a million-dollar house for the CIA?"_

"I have to do _something_ with our budget," Carew said, almost laughing at the image he could conjure of Gibbs' indignation.

"_Just what do you think you'll need a safe house in Idaho for?"_

"For something like the situation which has just arisen." Enough antagonism. Carew knew it was time to get down to business. "Now, I'd like to know just what you're going to need. Obviously, keeping Agent McGee's location from people who might want to know about it should be top priority...but that's part of the reason why this house is nearly ideal. The nearest FBI field office is in Salt Lake City, Utah. There are satellite offices in Idaho Falls, Idaho and Bozeman, Montana, but both of the offices close to this house are well over 60 miles away _and_ each office is in charge of multiple counties. They're not going to be spending much time in Teton Valley."

"_Teton Valley?"_

"Where the house is. Believe me. They have plenty on their plate out there. Agent McGee won't even be a blip on their radar. As for DHS, their Idaho office is in Boise. That's the capital, by the way."

"_I know the states and capitals. I learned them in school," _Gibbs said with a degree of irritation.

"It's also over five hours away by car. Yes, the world is getting smaller all the time, but in a place like Idaho, there's a pace of life that still manages to give a feeling of being away from things. Perhaps because people who have never been there often discount it. It's just a strange shape in the midst of the mountains, not a state worth exploring...which is wrong, by the way. It's quite lovely in its own way...and the people who live there don't mind being ignored. Keeps all those city folk from trying to turn Idaho into a replica of wherever they came from. I can say also, with as much certainty as is possible, that the NSA does _not_ have any offices in Idaho. So, what do you anticipate being required?"

"_We'll need medical services. Frequent doctor visits, if possible. McGee will likely need some sort of physical therapy and I don't want to depend on everything going exactly right."_

"There is a hospital not far away. It shouldn't be too much trouble engaging someone, even if house calls are becoming increasingly rare in this day and age. Anything else?"

"_McGee won't be in any shape to take care of the place. That includes food and things like that."_

"I take it you don't plan on being there with him?"

"_We can't be the entire time. It would look suspicious if we were completely out of sight. We'll be there for the beginning but not for as long as it will take McGee to recover."_

That also surprised Carew. He had assumed that Tim would be kept in their sight at all times now that he was again under their collective wings.

"Someone can be hired to take care of those things, I'm sure. A person who can afford to live in the house on the hill would be able to hire someone to shop for him. It won't seem strange."

"_How long will your generosity last?"_

Carew grinned, wishing he could see Gibbs in person. One of his thrills came from seeing how his responses nettled, rattled or surprised the person to whom he spoke. It was childish perhaps, but he wouldn't give up that opportunity for anything.

"Oh, as long as is necessary. As you said, it's in my interest to see Agent McGee free and clear. If it takes weeks, even months, I am more than amenable to keep that house at your disposal. Once you are through with it, I shouldn't have to mention that you'll need to keep the location a secret. Safe houses are only safe so long as their locations aren't known. I'd hate to have wasted a million dollars. ...and I'm sorry to say that not even Agent McGee is worth that much of our budget."

"_We know how to keep our mouths shut."_

"Good. Do you have any idea when you'll be arriving?"

"_No. McGee has...surgery sometime soon and no one has said how long it will take for flying to be safe after that."_

"Keep me informed. I can have my people go in and start tailoring the house to our needs. Subtly as always. We'll get on the good side of the locals and have some of them do the handiwork. They're probably better than anyone I could transfer in anyway. What kind of guard do you want?"

"_I don't."_

"Meaning?"

"_Meaning that I don't want any guard. If McGee gets wind of the CIA watching him again, he'll clam up. He tells us little enough as it is. It's not only his body that needs to heal."_

"Are you saying you'd like psychiatric services as well?"

"_I don't know. McGee needs something, but if he doesn't trust us enough to talk about it, he's not going to trust some random shrink."_

"You're more than likely correct, but for someone with his experiences, merely _talking_ won't be enough."

"_I know."_

"I won't venture to do more than you've requested right now, but I don't think that Agent McGee's mental health has been aided by his paranoid resistence to anyone with connections to the CIA, no matter how remote."

"_You could have let him choose."_

"Actually, Agent Gibbs, I could no more do that than I could allow myself to see any psychiatrist without first thoroughly vetting him. Agent McGee's actions in the past have made it impossible. By choosing someone vetted by the CIA, he would not have to censor his experiences and would be more likely to get the help he needed. By seeing someone without that vetting, he would be less likely to be open about his experiences. It is practical, and even he knows it, but his distrust holds him back. Understandable perhaps, but not helpful. Keep that in mind."

As he expected, Gibbs didn't respond to his comments...although Carew knew they'd been heard and filed away.

"If that's all, I would appreciate being told the time frame so that my people can make themselves scarce. I will inform my pilots of the flight plan when the time comes."

"_Thank you."_

Carew laughed delightedly. "How difficult was _that_ to say?"

"_Good-bye, Director Carew."_

"Good-bye, Agent Gibbs."

He hung up and looked at his monitor once more. Yes, that would do very nicely, a perfect setup to keep Tim safe until such time as he was ready to rejoin the outside world. His plea to the heads of the various agencies had been eloquent and pointed, but he couldn't get away with that a second time. He would have to be entirely possessed of his faculties, light on his toes in order to keep himself out of their clutches this time. ...and even that might not be enough.

In fact, it might be the time to cash in a few chips he'd been holding in reserve.

There was a very good reason that Director Carew never backed out of deals.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up sensing someone moving around him...but he couldn't see anyone. They were standing in his blind spot, on his left side.

"Hello?" he asked, afraid. "Who's there?"

There was no reply.

Fear escalated to terror.

"Man?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Man huwa?"

He turned his head, but there was no one there. He started to sit up, but then, the door opened and Imād was there. He met Tim's frightened gaze and then looked behind him. His face darkened.

"Limāthā makathta hādi'? Hal yumkinuka an taqul shay' lahu!" he said angrily and then looked at Tim again. "It is all right, Tim. He is a nurse. He is reading your monitors and changing the IVs. He does not speak English."

Tim read something more into what Imād said than simple ignorance of language, but he focused on trying to calm himself down. His fear had nearly led him to flight, no matter how much pain it would have caused him...and now the relief of knowing that he was safe was nearly bringing him to tears.

"I tried to...to ask him who he was. I asked in Arabic. It..." Tim laughed a little. "It's one of the few things I know how to say."

"He is giving you a sedative now."

"Why?" Tim asked, fearful once more.

Imād smiled. "They are moving you to the eye hospital, for your surgery."

"Why a sedative?"

"It is only a few kilometers, but it will be...not easy for you. If you are not awake, you will not feel the pain."

Tim could tell that Imād wasn't telling him everything, but there was no warning in his eyes and Tim had come to trust that he wouldn't try to hurt him...even if Tim couldn't bring himself to believe that Imād was fully trustworthy.

"I promise, Tim. It is all right. You will sleep here and wake up in a few hours at the eye hospital."

Tim wiped away a tear that insisted on falling down his cheek and nodded.

"Okay. Thanks."

"We will be there."

"My friends? They'll know where I am?"

"I will tell them myself. Or else Suhayl will," Imād said quickly.

Tim felt himself starting to fall asleep. He couldn't resist it...and he was tired enough that he didn't really want to...but he didn't want to risk falling asleep and waking up in someone else's clutches...again. It had happened too many times in the past.

"Do not fight it," Imād said. "It is not as good as what I gave you in the desert, but it will do."

Tim laughed and began to droop. His eyes closed and after a few minutes he was asleep.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Is there a need for this caution?" Imād asked Suhayl once Tim's body had fully relaxed. "His friends have no wish to make trouble and he himself cannot."

Suhayl just shook his head. "It is clear that Tim does not wish to come to the attention of anyone besides his friends. We cannot declare his presence to the embassy, but as an American, it is not worth the risk to make his existence known to those who might wish to make him an example or to take advantage of the opportunity his presence may give them."

"He is in the records as–?"

"As a member of my family," Suhayl said. "That is what he is until he leaves this country."

Imād nodded reluctantly and then glared at the nurse.

"Hāthā rajul...la ta'rifuhu! La yāthāk! Tukhawifuhu bighayr bā'ith," he said angrily.

"Imād!" Suhayl cautioned, but he too looked at the nurse and spoke slowly and deliberately. "Huwa fī himāyatī. Hal tafhim?"

The nurse looked at the two men and then dropped his eyes.

"Na'am," he said and left quickly.

"We cannot afford to antagonize them," Suhayl said. "If complaints are made, it could be a risk to Tim."

"He was afraid, Suhayl...just by the presence of someone he could not see. It would have been easy to help him, and that man did not."

"You will call his friends. I will stay with him as they take him to the hospital."

Imād nodded. "Yes, Suhayl. I do not like the look in his eye."

"I do not either. He will be safe until he leaves."

Imād said nothing more. He didn't need to. Suhayl knew that he wasn't happy about the nurse...who was one of the Saudis resenting the presence of Americans in his country. It didn't stop him from doing his job, but it did stop him from wanting to keep Tim from being afraid.

Suhayl kept out of the way as they moved Tim to the ambulance and transferred him to the eye hospital, but he was there the entire time. He waited and saw Tim safely ensconced in his room. They kept him in a private room to keep him out of the public eye. So far, the presence of an injured American had not been made known...and they wanted to keep it that way.

Suhayl sat next to Tim as he slept, determined that he would not awaken alone again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Special permission...no doubt because of Suhayl had allowed them all to come and stay with Tim until he awakened. Dr. Khouri had taken the time to tell them the details of what to expect and they figured Tim wouldn't mind hearing it from them rather than from the doctor.

Tim slept for a few hours but his awakening was heralded by definite signs of nightmares. His breathing sped up and he began to whimper and stir...not much, though. Then, one of his feet twitched and knocked against the other. They were both encased in blocks to keep them from being jarred but apparently, even the soft tap was too much. Tim's eye opened and his unbroken arm tensed, his hand curling into a fist around the blanket. Tears gathered and then fell from his undamaged eye which closed again in pain.

"McGee?" Ziva said softly. She was not seated closest to him since that would have been seen as inappropriate, but she leaned forward as far as she could. "McGee, it is all right. You are safe."

Tim didn't answer for a few minutes. He just breathed through the pain he was undoubtably feeling. Ducky took Tim's hand and let him hold on tightly until the pain began to ebb. Then, he opened his eye again and looked at them.

"Not all right," he whispered and licked his lips before letting out another trembling exhalation. "I wouldn't mind having what Imād gave me...in the desert."

"What was it?" Tony asked. The slight smile on Tim's pinched face was something that should be encouraged.

"Don't know. He couldn't tell me the name in English..."

"Do you know what it was in Arabic?" Ziva asked.

"Um..._al-afyūn_. I think was the word Imād used."

Ziva's eyebrows went up. "Are you sure?"

"Not completely. Why?"

"No wonder you liked it more."

"Why?"

"Al-afyūn is the Arabic word for opium."

"Opium?" Tim asked, momentarily distracted from his pain by the surprising revelation.

"Yes," Ziva said smiling. "Likely it is derived directly from the poppy, not processed. I would not worry about it."

"I don't want to become an opium addict."

"You won't," Ducky said. "Have no fear on that score."

"Okay. I made it to the eye hospital?"

"Yes. You will have surgery tomorrow. It is evening now and the doctors are going home," Ziva said.

"You talked to them already?"

"Yeah. You were sleeping and that Dr. Khouri told us what was going to happen."

"So...what's going to happen?" Tim asked, his breathing evening out as the pain faded to a manageable level.

"They'll come in, give you an anesthetic, wheel you into surgery, fix your face and wheel you out," Tony said with a smile.

Tim smiled a little himself, although with the visible chipped tooth, it didn't make him look extremely pleasant. "More specific?"

"The surgery itself will likely take several hours, Timothy," Ducky said. "The most important thing is that when they wheel you out, you will have a bandage over much of the left side of your face and you will not be able to see out of your damaged eye until some healing takes place."

"How long?"

"I'm afraid he wasn't specific."

"How long?" Tim asked again.

"It will be at least a week, probably longer, before you will be allowed to fly and leave here."

"Okay. How long before I can see again?"

"That depends on how quickly you heal. Once it is safe to remove the bandage and the swelling goes down, you'll be able to open your eye and it is likely that sight will return."

"Likely," Tim repeated without much inflection. "What about my feet?"

"They are letting them heal on their own for a few days and will re-examine them later," Ziva said. "Some parts may need surgery...but that will not be known for at least another month. They will secure your feet in splints so that you will feel less pain."

"Less pain sounds good."

"I am sure. How are you feeling now?"

Tim understood what Ziva was asking and he met her gaze for only a second.

"I haven't changed my mind."

Tony stirred slightly, but Ziva stilled him with her hand. "I understand, McGee." She looked around. No one outside of their group was there. "McGee, I promised Abby that I would deliver something for her."

Tim looked at her a little warily. "I'm not ready for a hug, Ziva."

Ziva grinned. "Not a hug." She stood up and leaned over, and placed a long kiss on Tim's forehead. His eye closed in reaction. "She did not think you would be up to a hug...and I think she would like to save it for herself."

Tim's eye remained closed but he had become strangely relaxed...so much so that for a moment, Ziva thought he might have fallen asleep.

"Tim?" she said softly.

Tim's right hand moved slowly and covered her mouth, quieting her. Then, he rested his hand on his chest and just breathed for a few moments. No one spoke while Tim lay so calmly on the bed. It was almost as though he had removed himself from reality for a few seconds and had escaped to somewhere else...perhaps the past.

...and then, the moment was over and his eye opened. The tension returned to his body and he looked at them.

"I don't want to be blind, not even a little bit."

"You won't be," Gibbs said. "Dr. Khouri thinks that, at worst, you'll have to get contacts or something like that. You'll be able to see."

Tim looked at Gibbs and Gibbs could see that Tim didn't have the energy even to hope right now. It would take too much out of him.

"Do you want us here right now, McGee?" he asked. "We can leave."

"No," Tim said instantly. "No, I want you to stay...as long as you can. Please."

"Of course, we will, Timothy. I can't say for certain how long their magnanimity will last, but for as long as it does...we will be here with you."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tim said. He took Ducky's hand again and held it...less tightly, yes, but he didn't let it go until he fell asleep again.

They stayed with Tim for two more hours and then Dr. Khouri came in and told them to leave. When they got back to the hotel, Ziva looked at Gibbs and, instead of going into her own room, she followed Gibbs into his. Tony did as well.

"What's up?" he asked.

"What is going on, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "I have seen the looks you and Ducky have exchanged. What is happening?"

Gibbs looked at her and then at Tony in silence.

"You kept the truth from us before. Do not do it again."

"McGee didn't want you know."

"That does not _matter_!" she said angrily. "McGee made a sacrifice for us and we had no idea! We were not able to thank him for what he gave up...for _us_! What is happening now?"

"McGee's not going back to DC," Gibbs said.

"What do you mean? He can't stay here," Tony protested.

"Not here either."

"Where then?"

"He's going to Idaho," Gibbs said.

Even Ducky looked surprised by that.

"Idaho? Why there?"

"There's a safe house set up there, a place where McGee can recover and get back into his right mind. We can't take him to DC when he'll just give himself up."

"NCIS has no safe houses in Idaho. Is there even a lake in Idaho?" Ziva asked.

"There are a few," Ducky said with a smile.

"But it's not NCIS, is it," Tony said. "Who?"

Gibbs didn't answer right away.

"You didn't...this isn't a _CIA_ safe house, is it?"

"It is," Gibbs said.

"No way, Boss!" Tony shouted. "No! We're not putting McGee into the hands of the CIA! We're not going to..."

"Accept their help? Accept their planes, their computers, their satellites? What aren't we going to accept, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"What does Carew want?"

"Nothing."

"That is a lie," Ziva said. "If Carew still wants to have McGee's help at some point, then there _is_ something he wants."

"That's true," Ducky said, "but nothing more than what we already know."

"And you want to put McGee into his hands?" Tony asked. "Are you crazy?"

"What other choice do we have, Tony?" Gibbs asked. "Are you going fight off the entire FBI, DHS, NSA and any other group who decides they deserve to control McGee's fate? Are you going to fight McGee, too? He wants to give up. He's not going to fight on your side right now. All he wants is to be safe. This place can do that...without him giving up his freedom."

"It'll take weeks...maybe months for McGee to get better," Tony said.

"And we can have the house for as long as we need it. We can't all stay there the whole time, obviously, but we can make sure there are people there to help him."

"No," Tony said firmly.

"Then, what do you suggest instead?" Gibbs asked, obviously ready to dismiss whatever Tony said.

"If we're putting McGee in a CIA safe house, then I'm staying there as long as he does."

"You can't take that much time off, Tony."

"I don't care. Jenny can fire me if she wants to. If McGee is staying at this house in Idaho, then so am I...and I don't care what you say. I'm not backing off of this. You want to trust Carew, fine. I don't...and I won't. You can work _that_ into your little plan."

Then, Tony turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Ziva looked after him and then looked back at Gibbs.

"Is this necessary?" she asked. "Do you think that this choice is necessary?"

Gibbs looked her in the eye. "There _is_ no choice, Ziva. It's this or nothing. It's this or McGee disappears for good. What would _you_ choose?"

"What about McGee's choice?"

"He doesn't get to choose this time...not until he's recovered enough to think about it clearly. If he still makes the same decision then...we'll have to give in...but not until that time."

"He will not thank you."

"Probably not. If he survives and recovers, I won't care."

"Do not hide things from us anymore," Ziva said. "It does not and cannot help."

Then, she, too, walked out of the room.

"They don't like this, Jethro."

"You don't either."

"No, I don't. ...but you have my support. For now. I just hope that you're right."

Ducky left and Gibbs sat down on his bed.

"So do I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim awakened once during the night from his usual nightmare. He sensed someone beside him, turned in fear...and saw Suhayl sitting in a chair next to the bed. He was asleep.

Then, Tim thought back to that beautiful moment when he had been able to imagine himself elsewhere, thinking of how Abby would have hugged him, kissed him because she missed him so much. ...just like that brief moment in Montana when he had lay on his back and stared at the stars overhead.

_I'm not alone,_ Tim thought, looking at Suhayl again.

He felt safe enough to sleep once more.


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The next morning, Tim was prepped and rolled in to surgery. It took hours but Gibbs, Tony, Ziva and Ducky were allowed to wait at the hospital for him. Suhayl and Imād also were there, but they showed no interest in making conversation. In fact, Suhayl often left the waiting area only to return and speak quietly to Imād in Arabic before falling silent once more. However, after the first two hours passed in relative quiet, Ducky could not stand to sit so quietly and so he walked across the great divide separating NCIS from the bedouins.

"May I speak with you for a few minutes?" he asked Imād politely.

Imād smiled and gestured for him to sit.

"We have not really had the time to properly thank you for all you have done for our friend."

"Thanks are not needed," Suhayl said. "He is my guest and my treatment was required."

"Nevertheless, our fear for him was such that your rescue and treatment of him was a great relief to us."

Suhayl merely nodded and withdrew from the conversation as quickly as he had joined it.

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you about what happened during Timothy's stay with you? How did you come upon him?" Ducky asked, focusing on Imād once more.

Imād smiled. "We did not intend to save your friend. He was a captive of those we wished to drive out of our country. Al-Hurram does not accept intruders. Suhayl led the attack and discovered Tim in a building."

"Where were they? A town?"

Another strange smile. "Of a sort. Years ago, the governments of Saudi Arabia and Yemen decided that the bedouin needed to settle but knew that they would not be easy in a city all the time. They built concrete buildings in the desert...where no one else lived or would want to live and tried to make us live there. We did not want to live there either. Many bedouin have chosen to become as those of the cities, but we have not and ugly gray houses in the desert will not change us."

Ducky smiled. "That doesn't sound welcoming to me. So these places are just there in the desert? Crumbling?"

"Yes. Sometimes we have sheltered in them for a time, but they stand empty as the Rub' al-Khali...and this is where Tim was. We attacked them, killed some and brought him to our camp. They attacked us there and we drove them away, killing more. Then, we took him to Sharurah and traveled with him to Riyadh. ...and now we are here."

"I am surprised that you did not simply consider him your prisoner," Ziva said.

They had all been listening avidly, even if only Ducky was speaking.

"Why does that surprise you?" Suhayl asked. "Because we are Arab and you are..."

"Suhayl!" Imād warned.

Suhayl looked around. "I know your speech. I have heard its like before."

"That is not why," Ziva said. "It is because I know that it is accepted to transfer a prisoner from one conqueror to another. You could have had him as yours, even sold him back to those who held him. There would be no reason for you to consider him a guest. Why did you?"

"He placed himself between a killer and my daughter," Suhayl said. "He made himself a guest when before he had been a prisoner. That is why."

"That seems very simple," Tony said. "Not in a bad way, but that's not complicated at all."

"Why does a reason have to be complicated?" Imād asked. "It is the truth and that is it. If he had done nothing, perhaps he would be dead, perhaps it would simply become complicated, but he showed himself to be worth saving."

"I'm a bit jealous, I guess," Tony said with a slight smile. "Things have been too complicated for us the last few years."

Imād nodded. "Tim has not said much but he has shown that there is complication in his life. I am sorry for it."

"We are, too," Ziva said.

"How long will you be staying?" Gibbs asked, breaking his own silence.

"Until I see your plane flying away," Suhayl said. "Then, my debt is paid."

There was a brief silence and then Ducky returned to his questions.

"You're a doctor?" he asked Imād.

Imād smiled. "I am but not in a place like this. I am a desert doctor. I learned from my father and some at the hospital in Sharurah. I am not...like Suhayl. He has degrees from universities, but I have only my learning from the desert."

"You kept Timothy alive."

Imād shook his head. "I could not have done that if he did not want it. He was very badly injured when I saw him. Many have died from what he has suffered and less than he has suffered. I thought he would be better dead than alive he looked so bad. His pain in his body is bad, but his pain in his heart is worse. He still feels guilt for lives he helped take, for pain he caused in others. That is worse for him than other pains...and he seems to know pains of the body well."

"Unfortunately, he does. He has been on the receiving end of many injuries in the last few years."

"Would you answer a question?" Imād asked.

"Certainly, if I can."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why has Tim been injured so much in the last few years as you say? What changed?"

"That...is a very long story," Ducky said.

Imād looked at the clock on the wall and then back at Ducky.

"I believe that we have many hours. If you would prefer to pass them in silence, that is your choice. If you wish to speak, we have time to do so."

"Some parts...we can't tell you."

"If, as Tim said, the CIA is a part of the story, I understand. Suhayl and I...and all in our tribe have come to respect this American. It would be good to know his story...but I feel that I would not get a real story from Tim. He feels too much of his own worthlessness. Too much of his pain."

Ducky looked back at Gibbs who just shrugged.

"Very well. I will tell you what I can. It all started five years ago when we had a case at NCIS involving the CIA..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent Fornell, what a pleasant surprise," Jenny said, her smile as fake as her words.

"Good afternoon, Director Shephard. You more than likely know why I'm here."

"Actually, I don't have the slightest clue what brings the FBI to my door."

Fornell looked at her for a few seconds, obviously deciding how long to play it out. He obviously decided not to bother.

"Where is Agent McGee?"

"Why does the FBI suddenly think I know? We've been searching for him."

"Your MCRT, plus Dr. Mallard, has not been seen for the last few days."

Jenny's expression hardened. "The running of NCIS and where I choose to send my employees is of no concern to the FBI and the FBI does not have the authority to demand that I say where they are if what they are doing has no effect on the FBI's turf."

"You know why what they are doing could have an effect."

"No, I don't, Agent Fornell. Why don't you tell me?"

Fornell stood up as quickly as he had sat down. "This is a warning, Director Shephard. They know. Not everything, but enough that you'd better watch your backside."

"I have plenty of people to do that for me, Agent Fornell. Believe me: when Agent McGee returns to DC, I have no doubt that the other agencies will be aware of his arrival."

"Because you'll tell them?"

Jenny smiled and didn't answer. Fornell's mouth quirked in a smile for a fraction of a second before it vanished as if it had never been there.

"It's been nice chatting with you, Director Shephard. Tell Agent McGee I hope he gets better quickly."

Jenny said nothing but inclined her head very slightly.

Fornell walked out and the smile faded from Jenny's face. She hadn't heard much of anything from them, but she would certainly avoid contacting them now. When they called to tell her they were coming back, she could warn them of the dangers of coming back to DC.

A warning indeed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eye. Yes, only one eye opened. He vaguely remembered that this was to be expected. In fact, there was a distinct lack of pain coming from the left side of his face. Actually, the left side of his face didn't even seem to exist. The right side of his face felt more or less normal, but the left side was numb to the point of nonexistence. Beyond that, he was pretty loopy, feeling very little in the way of emotion beyond a general confusion that meant almost nothing. He could be anywhere in any situation...and he wouldn't care. He remembered enough to know that this was a nice way to feel. He didn't know why, only that he liked this sensation of knowing nothing.

Then, he heard soft voices out of his line of sight. He couldn't understand them...but again, that didn't bother him. He just lay there in a kind of stupor for an unknown period of time during which he didn't think. He knew that there was something that had happened but he couldn't remember what it was.

Tim began to wonder if he even _had_ a left side to his face. He couldn't feel it, couldn't move it if it was there. So he lifted an arm...or he tried. The arm he tried to lift wouldn't move. His left arm was not mobile. Okay. That meant the right arm instead. It was very heavy, but he was able to move lift his hand toward his face. Before he could touch where the left side of his face should be, a hand gently took his and moved it back to the bed.

"Hal onta jayid?"

The words were not familiar. Another language. What language?

"Sayid?"

"He does not speak Arabic." Another disembodied voice.

A face leaned over him and a man smiled.

"Are you well, sir?" the man asked in heavily-accented English.

_Arabic. Saudi Arabia. Oh, yeah._

"Numb," he mumbled because half of his face didn't move like he told it to.

The disembodied voice laughed.

"That will wear off soon enough. It is important that you do not put pressure on your face. The incisions are new and the repairs have not had time to be...to heal completely. You must be patient and wait. Understand?"

"Yessss, I un-nnerstand," Tim said thickly.

"It would be best for you to sleep more and wait that way. I am sure you are tired."

Tim thought about it and, yes, he was still tired. He nodded slightly and let his eye close. He was remembering now and sleep was infinitely better than that.

Tim slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"The surgery went as we hoped. It is still to be seen how much damage there has been to his eye, but I am hopeful that he will have full vision, perhaps slightly distorted but correctable," Dr. Khouri said. "He is sleeping now, but you may go to see him now. I will tell you when time for visiting is done."

"Thank you, Dr. Khouri," Ducky said. "We are most grateful for your skills."

Dr. Khouri nodded once and directed them to Tim's room. He didn't even give Ziva a second glance as he had before.

They all took seats, Ziva sitting demurely farther from the bed.

Tim didn't stir for an hour. Then, finally, his eye opened lazily, closed, and opened again. He looked at them with an expression that was...not happy but not full of the same despair as he'd shown before.

"Hi," he said, although the left side of his mouth didn't move very much in response to his slight smile on the right side. "How'd it go?"

"Dr. Khouri says that it went great, Probie," Tony said, smiling.

"My eye?" Tim asked.

"He said it looked fine, but they'll have to wait until they can test it to see if there will be any corrective lenses or glasses needed."

"You'd look fine with glasses, McGee," Tony said.

Tim's one eye moved over to Tony's face, obviously searching for any sign of falsity. Then, there was a small smile, one that actually reached his eye and gave it a bit of a spark of life. Up to now, the green of the eye they could see had been dull, but there was just a flash of the life that had made it shine.

"I think...I'll go with contacts," he said finally...and then smiled once more...with the right side of his face.

"Your face will be fine, Timothy, and your eye will heal."

The spark died.

"What about the rest of me?"

Ducky stood and leaned over Tim on the bed...and gave the only possible answer to an unanswerable question.

"Given time, Timothy, all of you will heal...and we are doing our best to ensure that you have that time. Trust us. Be still for now and trust us to keep you safe. Please."

Tim's eye blinked at Ducky for a few seconds. Then, he nodded without speaking.

"Are you tired, Timothy?"

"A little."

"Perhaps it would be best if you slept for a time. We will stay as long as the doctors will allow us and then we will come back tomorrow. All right?"

"Okay."

Tim closed his eye and it didn't take long before his breathing deepened and he was asleep.

"Did you just lie, Ducky?" Tony asked quietly.

"Not at all, Anthony. I truly believe that Timothy can recover given time."

"Will he _have_ that time?" Ziva asked. "Can we really give it to him?"

"Yes," Gibbs said. "Yes, we can. And we will."

Tim slept.


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The next few days were passed in what became a routine of sitting around the hotel room, visiting Tim, seeing him with his face bandaged up and the rest of him slowly healing. He slept a lot of the time and when he was awake, the conversation wasn't much...but Tim seemed to take so much just from their presence that they didn't mind sitting in his hospital room without much commentary. Imād and Suhayl were in and out, not intruding on personal time with Tim but rarely, if ever, leaving the hospital. Gibbs asked once where they slept and got no response. Knowing as they did that Tim's surgeries and hospital stay were likely extremely expensive, they were all curious about where a nomadic tribe got the money to pay for it, but since Suhayl seemed deeply offended by any question of his ability to pay, they learned not to ask.

After two days, Tim's bandages were removed, but his eye was still too swollen for him to see out of it. His surgical incisions were not beautiful, and the bruising on his face had been severe enough that the left side was still deeply mottled...but his whole face was visible and the signs of healing could be seen...even if those signs were faint as yet. Black sutures marked the areas where the bones had been reconstructed. The repairs to the fractured orbital left fewer obvious signs but the vision Tim would have in his left eye, the success of that procedure was something they were all anxious to find out. Dr. Khouri was still confident that Tim would be able to see once the swelling went down. They just had to wait and see...hopefully.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

One week later, Tim woke up and when he opened his eyes...both of them opened. Oh, his left lid didn't lift completely, but it did lift a little bit, letting light onto an eye that had been long without it. He blinked a few times and was surprised that his eye responded to his commands...and what was more...

"I can see," he whispered. Carefully, painfully, he pulled himself up to a sitting position and he looked around the room, able to see a full view for the first time since he'd been here. He struggled to get his lid to lift completely. It wouldn't, but he could still see...and see more than just light...but also shapes...images.

"I can see," he said again. He hadn't believed it was possible. He hadn't believed that he could ever see out of both eyes again. ...and yet, here he was...seeing. It was amazing. For the first time, he thought that just maybe he could heal from this.

"...but for what? For the next time?"

The thought brought him no comfort.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee! You've got two eyes again!" Tony said happily as he and Gibbs came to visit later that day.

Tim managed a weak smile.

"Almost," he said.

"How's your vision?" Gibbs asked.

"I can see...but it's...kind of fuzzy. I guess I'll need glasses or something after all."

"Well, that's no biggie," Tony said, bracingly. "Hasn't stopped el Jefe."

"Yeah," Tim said, unable to muster any enthusiasm. "When will we go back? How much longer will I be here?"

"Until your doctor clears you."

"Do you know when that will be?" Tim asked.

"Dr. Khouri hasn't said anything to us yet."

Gibbs sat down. "McGee, there's something you need to know."

"What?" Tim blinked a few times, trying to get his left lid to lift higher. It was stuck half-open.

"You're not going back to DC when we leave here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm not taking you back there."

"Where else could I go?"

"A safe place where you can heal."

"And how are you going to keep me safe, Boss?" Tim asked. "No one has been able to do that, not for the last five years. How is this going to change?"

"Because I can count on one hand the number of people who will know where you are."

"And where is that?"

"Once we get in the air, we'll tell you."

"You won't be alone, McGee," Tony said, his expression serious.

"Maybe I should be...in case you're...mistaken. Then, only _I_ would die this time."

Gibbs raised his hand slightly and then let it drop. There would be no headslaps until Tim's bones and eye healed. No one wanted to risk a problem with that.

"Not gonna happen, McGee," Tony said.

Tim looked at Tony. "You know," he said.

"Yeah."

Tim's gaze moved to Gibbs. "You said you wouldn't tell them until I was ready for them to know! You said that–"

"It wasn't him," Tony said.

"Then, who?" Tim asked...and then answered his own question. "It was Carew. Wasn't it?"

"Yeah. What I want to know is why it wasn't _you_ who told us what you did, the deal you made?"

"Because you didn't need to know!" Tim said. "There was no reason for you to start feeling guilty because of something I chose to do. You were in that situation because of me anyway."

"It doesn't matter. We would have done it no matter the reason for it. You should know that."

"Same goes for me. You felt guilty because you slapped my back, Tony. If I had told you about this..." Tim sighed. "Look...You don't owe me anything. ...and I don't get why you're not just going to take me back to DC."

"Can't do that, McGee," Gibbs said.

"Why not?"

"Because you know what will happen."

"I know."

"I can't let that happen."

"Even if it's what _I_ want?"

"For now? No."

"That's not fair, Boss. You're not letting me choose."

"Nope, I'm not."

Tim didn't know what to say. He felt almost betrayed.

"McGee, I'm giving you a chance to recover first."

"I don't want a chance! I've had enough chances!"

"No, you haven't. You haven't really had any, and you're gonna get one even if I have to force you to take it. Got it?"

Tim looked at Tony...who shook his head.

"No, McGee. Not this time. You've got to...deal with this first."

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Yes, McGee."

Then, the presence of Tony and Gibbs receded and Tim was left alone...with his chaotic thoughts.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim?"

Tim jumped slightly but then looked toward the door. ...with both eyes open (mostly). Imād was there.

"Hi, Imād...I feel like...like I'm seeing you for the first time."

Imād smiled. "It is good to see you healing, Tim."

"I probably don't _look_ like I am, though...do I?"

Imād shook his head. "No. I will admit that one who had not seen you...as I saw you first...would not...think you were better, but I know you are."

"In some things."

"Yes. You must begin with something."

Tim looked at the window...but the bright light from outside hurt his eye when he stared for too long and so he looked down at his splinted feet. The splints kept his feet immobile, dramatically cutting down on the pain he felt from that area of his body. There was still occasional throbbing and some sharp pains, but it was a lot better than it had been...because he couldn't accidentally move them.

"Your friends have told me your story."

"Why?"

"Because I asked them to tell me."

"Why?"

"To understand why you are as you are. You are not guilty...but you act as though you are."

"Character flaw," Tim said and smiled a little.

"You saved your life and the lives of others. No one can save every man."

"I know...but so many people have died because of me. Three just...just this time. My friends were tortured last year."

"Did you kill these people?"

"No."

"Did you want them dead?"

"No!"

"Do you think that means it is your blame? Does that require your guilt?"

Tim looked toward the window again but couldn't tolerate the light for very long.

"What will you do now?" Imād asked.

"Why are you asking?"

"Do we save you for nothing? Is all we have done without meaning?"

Tim looked at Imād and found that he could not tell what emotion Imād was feeling. He couldn't read the expression on his face.

"You will heal, in sha' Allah. Is our sacrifice nothing?"

"No...I'm...grateful. I really am."

"Then, why do you...tubathir..._waste _what we give with this...guilt?"

"Should I just forget them? Say, 'that's too bad' and move on?"

"Yes."

"It's not so easy for me."

"That is a weakness, not a strength," Imād said, his voice steady and calm. There was no sign of falsity. He truly believed it. "You give power to the dead. The dead are dead. They will not return. You are not mourning the deaths of them. You are mourning the death of yourself. Of your other self that was different before." He paused for a moment. "Do you understand? I am not certain I am using the English well."

"I understand," Tim said softly. "I don't know how it is that you can look on death so easily. I was dumped in a crate and flown somewhere...and then a man got curious about what was in the crate and so he opened it...and saw me. ...and he was killed...just because he saw _me_."

"That is not your fault. He chose to open the crate. They chose to kill him. What did you choose?"

Tim looked down. "I...chose...to fight to be a part of the world instead of...instead of being taken away."

"Who would take you?"

"The government. People who think that what I know is too dangerous for me to be free. If I had...had let them take me. I wouldn't be here. People wouldn't be dead. I wouldn't have been...tortured."

"Death is a part of the cycle of life. Everyone dies. In the desert, life can be lost in a moment. One wrong step...life becomes death. It is not to blame the scorpion, the one who stings the person. It is not to blame the person who is stung. Death comes...as it came to my son. Do I blame myself? Perhaps because I did not see him leave from our tent? Do I blame him for not heeding my teachings? I mourn his death, but I do not give blame to myself or to my wife. It is not a...thing of...of blame. It is life...and death. You cannot give life. Only God can do that. You did not take it. To take blame for that is to put yourself...in..." Imād's eloquence gave out finally in the face of trying to explain complicated concepts in a language he did not know so well as his own. "It is not right to take the blame. You do not have the right to do it."

"The right?"

"Choice? I do not know the word. You choose to do what is wrong. It is not right. It is not good. It helps no one."

"But what do I do?" Tim asked, not even thinking about the strangeness of asking this question of a man who knew only parts of his history. "The more I stay in the world, the more pain _I_ feel and the more people get hurt and die."

"I cannot choose for you. I cannot say what is right for you. I cannot. It is not my...markaz...place...to say."

"I don't know what to do. I want to give in, stop fighting, let them take me out of the world where everyone will be safer."

Imād looked at Tim for a few seconds without speaking. Then, he smiled.

"You can see out of your eye. The damage is healing. Al-hamdu lillah."

"What does that mean?"

"Praise to God. ...for your healing. For my other children who still live...and do not feel the sting of the scorpion." Then, Imād stood and left the Tim alone in the room.

When he came by to check on Tim, Dr. Khouri was thrilled that his eye appeared to be functioning correctly and said that they would test it in a few more days to see how it would settle in the newly-reconstructed orbital. Tim was glad, but his mind was only partly on the prospect of clear sight.

As his physical sight cleared, his vision of any real future dimmed.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

The next few days were full of anticipation, the desire and the need to get Tim somewhere he could be safe, somewhere he could get the time he needed to recover. Preparing the plane to jostle Tim as little as possible occupied Ducky's time, while Gibbs was planning on the best way to get Tim safely ensconced in the CIA safe house. Tony and Ziva spent most of their time with Tim himself. They figured that their help wasn't really needed in the preparations, although they talked with Ducky and Gibbs every night about what was going on. ...and Tim needed company. They were carefully _not_ talking about the problematic stuff, but at the same time, it was always on their minds.

Finally, about a week after Tim's surgery, he showed some interest in what was coming next.

"When are we leaving?" he asked.

"Soon," Ziva said. "When Dr. Khouri decides it is safe."

"Safe," Tim repeated softly. "Nothing is safe...not anymore."

"You can see again, McGee," Tony said. "You're getting better."

"I'm not walking yet, Tony. I'm not even..._thinking _about walking again...because when I do, it makes me want to cry because I can't touch my feet without hurting them."

"But you can see," Ziva said.

"Yeah...I can see...and I'm glad, but that doesn't make me safe. Nothing will. Not anymore."

"You're wrong, McGee. You can be just as safe as any other person is."

Tim looked at Tony, his left eye still half closed.

"How are you going to guarantee that, Tony? I was supposed to be safe before. I was supposed to be safe when I got hit by a car and had my speech taken away. I was supposed to be safe when I went to that place in Montana. How am I going to be safe again? How are you going to keep me safe? How is _anyone_ going to do that? They're not! Now, Gibbs wants me to go to some safehouse and that's somehow going to work. It's not! It can't! Nothing is going to be safe enough for me to feel like I'm safe." Tim bumped his foot against the railing of the bed, hissed and closed his eyes at the resurgence of the pain. "How...are you...going to stop me from hurting?"

Tony took hold of Tim's ankle (_not_ his foot) and, to Tim's shock, began to rub just his ankle. He opened his eyes as the pain faded. It wasn't that Tony's ministrations were actually _doing_ anything to ease the pain...but they helped all the same. He looked at his leg and then he looked at Tony.

"I can't stop the pain, Tim. I wish I could. I wish I could just take it on me to give you a break from it, but I can't. None of us can...but we can help you if you'll let us. You don't have to deal with all this on your own. Really. You don't."

"But you can't really get it."

"Must we _get_ it?" Ziva asked. "Is that required to help you?"

"I...I don't know, but it feels like...like no one can and that's..." Tim sighed. "It just sucks is all."

"Yeah, it does. I don't like the way things are, the way they've been, but it can get better."

"How do you know that?" Tim asked.

"I...well, I don't, but I feel like it _has_ to because things have sucked for a long time, Tim, and we're due for something good."

"I don't think things work like that, Tony," Tim said. "Sometimes things just keep sucking. ...and then, you die."

"That's not gonna happen this time, Tim. For one thing, I have it on good authority that this safe house is really nice."

"Oh really? How is that happening?"

"Not sure but Gibbs has a lot of connections."

Tim looked back and forth between Tony and Ziva.

"How? How is he doing this?"

"Don't ask me. Ask him. I don't pretend to get how Gibbs does what he does," Tony said.

"How much longer?"

"Here?" Ziva asked. "I think only another day or so. Dr. Ali says that it will take more time before they know if surgery is needed for your feet, but Ducky is trying to make sure that you will be as comfortable as possible on the plane."

"The vibrations will hurt," Tim whispered.

"Yes. He is seeing what he can do about that."

"Drugs?" Tim asked.

Ziva smiled. "Perhaps. Would you prefer that?"

"I don't know. I'm...kind of afraid of what I'll see when I wake up."

"Well, I know that I'm not the most beautiful sight in the world, Probie, but at least you know what you're getting."

"Except that..."

"What?"

Tim managed a weak smile. "...you're being way too nice to me."

Tony laughed. "Well, I have to wait until you can fight back. It's not fair to kick a Probie when he's down."

"It's going to take a long time for my feet to stop hurting."

"I know, and I'll be there."

"How?" Tim asked. "You can't take that much time off work."

"If they want to fire me, they can."

Tim looked at Ziva and then at Tony. "Why are you doing this? Risking all this?"

"Because...you are worth it, Tim," Ziva said. "We would not do it if we did not think it was worth any risk."

"I don't...want you to get hurt because of me again."

"We're not in any danger of that, McGee," Tony said. "...and if you'll let us help you, everyone will be better off."

"I just...I can't believe that things are going to work out anymore. I can't."

Throwing caution to the winds, Ziva put her arms around Tim and hugged him gently.

"That is why you have us. To believe for you...until _you_ can believe for yourself."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Director Carew, Dr. Hicks is here."_

"Good. Send him in."

Carew leaned back in his chair. This was going to be kind of a crap shoot, but he thought he could maneuver things to work out as he wanted them to.

The door opened revealing Dr. Woodrow Hicks, a CIA psychiatrist, who excelled at his work...and was not above moving around as needed.

"Director," he said.

"You ready to go on another assignment?"

"Yeah. I've been twiddling my thumbs for three weeks. I'd started wondering whether or not you were going to use me again."

"I was keeping you in reserve."

"For what?"

"I'd like you to make contact with the hospital in Jackson, Wyoming."

"Why?"

"So that you can be the referral for one Timothy McGee when he gets there."

Dr. Hicks smiled. "He's already rejected CIA psychiatrists."

"I know...but he hasn't met you before."

"Ah, I see. Why are you doing this, Director?"

"He's a valuable asset, and he needs the help. He won't be any use without getting his head on straight."

Dr. Hicks nodded. "What's his current status?"

"In layman's term, since I'm a layman, bad. He's been tortured and is currently recovering from very serious injuries. In addition..."

"There's the last few years of his life that's never been addressed?"

"Exactly."

"What makes you think he'll talk to a shrink at all?"

"Because he knows he needs to, and he'll think he's getting around the CIA restriction if he does it while he's in the safe house."

"You seem pretty sure."

"I'm approximately... 85 percent positive."

Dr. Hicks looked at Carew over steepled fingers...which meant he was evaluating. Carew didn't like getting evaluated, but he was not exempt from the requirements of the other CIA employees...and Dr. Hicks was one of the few he trusted for himself.

"This is about more than the CIA, isn't it."

"Isn't it always?"

"With you? Absolutely. Why him?"

"I might need his help one day."

"Might?"

Carew laughed. "Probably will."

"Do you already _know _that you will?"

"Not for sure."

"A percentage?"

"Currently...I'm at about 65 percent."

"He there yet?"

"No. I wanted to give you a bit of time. He won't be ready to ask for a shrink for a few days after he gets there anyway...and you'll have to be willing to make house calls."

"Why?"

"Falaqa."

Dr. Hicks' expression hardened slightly and he shook his head. He swore in a very undignified manner. Carew knew why. Dr. Hicks had scars on his own feet from his younger days. There was a reason he had chosen to work for the CIA.

"All right. I'll take myself out there today. You've already made arrangements, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, I have."

"Always anticipating."

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. Not as good perhaps, but still useful."

"You could admit to having feelings, you know. I'm bound by doctor-patient confidentiality with you as I am with everyone."

"Not while I'm in this position. When my inevitable ouster comes, then I can drop the mask. Not until then."

"Others get by without a permanent mask."

"Others aren't the director of the CIA."

It was an old conversation. Dr. Hicks nodded and stood.

"I'll keep you informed...but once I take him on..."

Carew nodded. "Confidentiality. I don't much care what he tells you...as long as he gets the help he needs."

"Understood. I'll get going."

"Good luck."

"And to you," Dr. Hicks replied and walked out of the office.

Carew leaned back once more in his chair and smiled. As much as he could do, he had done. Now, it was just a matter of being patient. ...and doing the rest of his job.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

After a lot of planning, they were ready for Tim to go. Tim had stopped protesting, but he still wasn't especially excited about any of the preparations. He was simply resigned that he had no choice in the matter. They stopped trying to get him to be excited. Instead, they just focused on getting him out. That was the most important thing right now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Jethro?"

Gibbs stopped at Tim's door and turned toward the voice. It was Imād.

"Yeah?"

"You are leaving," he said.

"In the morning, yes."

Imād paused and then walked closer, shaking his head. "You are leaving now," he said in a low voice.

Gibbs looked at him in surprise. "Why?"

"We have stopped others from knowing Tim is here. That is no longer true. People know. To many, it does not matter...but it is not them you must avoid. It is those who do not want him here. Suhayl is preparing your transport now. You must go now to keep the peace."

Gibbs wanted to protest that they'd done nothing wrong, that they'd followed every rule set them...but he knew that, to a small subset of society, it wouldn't matter. All that mattered was who they were and where they were from. That was enough to condemn them.

"Okay. I'll need to tell the others."

Again, Imād shook his head. "No. They are being told."

"By whom?"

"By your driver. He is bringing them here. You will all go together to the airport and leave here. Safely."

Although it galled him to leave like a criminal in the middle of the night, Gibbs knew there was no point in trying to leave at their scheduled time.

"Our flight plan doesn't have us leaving until tomorrow."

"You will be safe on your plane...and I think Suhayl will make it possible to leave tonight."

Gibbs smiled. He was glad Suhayl was on their side. He would be a formidable enemy. Imād returned the grin and nodded.

"You may tell Tim that you are leaving as soon as your other friends arrive."

Gibbs nodded. "Thank you. For all that you've done...for Tim."

"We owe him a debt. Life in return for life. Nothing less would be enough."

"Still...thank you."

Imād inclined his head in acceptance and walked down the hall. Gibbs watched him go and then walked into Tim's room. Tim was asleep. Every day saw him looking better, but his feet were still in their protective casings. It was a constant reminder of how much Tim had suffered...and how far he had to go.

"McGee?"

Tim came awake with a quick inhalation, both eyes opening, looking for danger. Then, he saw Gibbs and closed his eyes with deliberately-slow inhalations.

"We're leaving now."

"Now?" Tim asked, eyes coming open again. His left eye still didn't open completely, and they knew his vision was still blurry...but it was great to see both of his eyes.

"Yeah. Suhayl thinks it will be safer to get out tonight rather than wait until tomorrow."

"Okay," Tim said, his voice soft...to hide his fear.

"We're getting you out. As soon as everyone gets here, we're leaving."

Tim swallowed and nodded. "Okay."

Gibbs walked over and sat beside Tim in silence for a few minutes. Then, the door opened and Imād came in, bearing clothing.

"Tim, this is for you. These pants will open wide for your feet and will be better than what you now wear."

Tim smiled. "Shokran, Imād."

Imād smiled back. "'Afwan, Tim. I will leave you to change...and I will watch for your friends."

He withdrew.

"I...don't know if I can manage this on my own, Boss," Tim said, looking embarrassed.

Gibbs just nodded and took the pants. They unzipped from ankle to knee. He opened them up and then looked at Tim.

"You're going to have to sit up, McGee," he said, keeping his voice completely neutral.

Tim nodded and pushed himself upright. He took a deep breath and slid his feet to the edge of the bed. His eyes closed as the movement brought the pain back. Tears seeped out under his eyelids. Gibbs did his best to get the pants on without touching his feet, but he knew he jostled them slightly. Tim's hands were tightly clenching the bedsheet and his breath came in short spurts.

"Okay, McGee. I think you're going to have to hold onto me to get these all the way on."

A blush suffused Tim's face but he didn't speak. He just reached out and put his arms around Gibbs' neck. Gibbs then lifted him up and pulled the pants securely around his waist.

"There," he said, lowering Tim back to the bed.

Tim let go instantly.

"You can manage your shirt?"

Tim opened his eyes and nodded.

"Good. Go ahead."

Tim shucked the hospital gown and pulled on the shirt. Maneuvering around his broken arm wasn't easy, but it _was_ easier than his feet. It was a fairly typical tourist shirt with Arabic writing on it in the shape of a tiger.

"Not bad, McGee. You almost look like a tourist."

Still embarrassed, Tim managed a lopsided smile. "If it weren't for my face, my arm and my feet, right?"

"Yeah."

The door opened, letting in Tony, Ziva and Ducky. They were all carefully unconcerned by the change in schedule.

"Hey, Probie, nice shirt."

"Thanks. Imād brought it."

"He has good taste."

Tim laughed a little. "Yeah."

The door opened one more time...this time revealing Suhayl himself.

"We go," he said.

The others had clearly been brought up to speed. They just nodded. Suhayl gestured and Imād moved to Tim's bed. He disconnected all the monitors and IVs. Then, he began pushing it to the door. Gibbs joined him without being asked. The others had all their luggage. Quickly, they got down to the exit. Tim was loaded into an ambulance. ...and the others crowded inside as well. There was very little room.

Suhayl and Imād were in front, driving.

Every jolt brought tears to Tim's eyes...and eventually he closed them tightly, clenching his teeth against the pain.

Ziva took his hand and he squeezed it tightly.

"You...know what this...reminds me of?" he asked.

"What?" Ziva asked.

"Being carried...through the desert on a litter...trying to tell myself that it was a good thing...that the pain was going to lead to something better. ...is that what I can tell myself this time?"

"Yes. It is. We should be at the airport soon."

"Good."

It took another ten minutes for the ambulance to stop moving...but Tim didn't get much of a chance to recover. Suhayl opened the back of the ambulance, gestured for them all to get out and then he, Imād and Tony pulled Tim out of the ambulance. They rolled him through an entrance to the airport. When they got checked in, he was instantly moved from the gurney to a wheelchair.

"You are this way," Suhayl said, leading them along.

Gibbs couldn't help wondering how a nomad from southern Saudi Arabia had enough influence to get all this done.

They reached the runway for the private planes. Gibbs gestured for the others to go. He looked at Suhayl.

"How are you doing all this?" he asked.

Suhayl smiled. "I learned much in my years of schooling in the West. One thing I learned was the value of...what is that idiom you use? ...not putting all my eggs in one basket. The desert is my home. My family and my wandering is what I do when I wish to be home. ...but when it is time to work, I will leave my desert home."

"And do what?"

"Other things. Things which allow me to help you as I have. ...and I have learned much from you and more from Tim. Things which have changed my view of the West. Corruption is not only to be found in the Middle East, it seems."

"No, it's not."

Suhayl smiled knowingly. "It is up to all of us to do what is necessary to make the world what we wish it to be. We cannot let the world happen to us. _We_ must happen to the world. A scientist once described himself with these words: 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.' I do not destroy worlds, but I do not accept all that I see. I destroy the false worlds of others." He gestured. "You may now go back to your world, Jethro. My debt is paid. You may remind Tim that he owes me nothing."

"I'll do that."

Gibbs hesitated and then put out his hand.

"Thank you, Suhayl."

Suhayl looked at his hand and then at him, scrutinizing him and then nodding. He took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

"You are welcome, Jethro."

They walked out to the tarmac together. Tim was waiting.

"Suhayl," he said.

"Fi Amanillah," Suhayl said.

"Yes," Imād said, nodding. "Fi Amanillah."

"What does that mean?"

"May God protect you," Imād said. "On your journey and at your destination."

Gibbs looked at Imād and then at Suhayl. He could see the difference between them. Imād was much simpler in his outlook. Not naive, but simpler. Gibbs would wager that Imād didn't know what it was that Suhayl did. Suhayl had seen the best _and_ worst the world had to offer. Whatever it was that he did for "work", he had seen a lot. Tim shook their hands and wished them both well.

"Are you ready to go, McGee?" he asked.

Tim looked at the plane and then at Imād and Suhayl, his saviors.

"Salām 'alaykum," he said, tripping over the syllables a bit. "You did so much for me."

"You have done much for us," Suhayl said. "We have no debt between us...only respect."

Tim nodded. "Thank you," he said one more time.

"You are very welcome. I would not suggest a return to Saudi Arabia, but you will be remembered."

"By all," Imād added. "Wadā'an."

Finally, Tony and the copilot lifted Tim onto the plane.

"We will not see each other again," Imād said, "but we will hope for happiness and recovery for Tim."

Gibbs smiled his thanks and got onto the plane, relieved when he felt the engines start up. Suhayl had exerted his mysterious influence and got them out early.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well?" Imād asked, waving at Tim.

"Now, we go home," Suhayl said. "Our part is over, and I miss my family."

Imād smiled and nodded.

They left the airport together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim watched out the window and waved to Imād and Suhayl. He had felt safe with them, knowing that they would do their best to help him. There were so many people who had helped him in various situations in the last few years. Then, he looked at his friends on the plane with him. He smiled at Ziva as she emerged from the bathroom, wearing her regular clothes once again. She returned his smile but didn't speak.

Then, the vibrations of the engines began and the expected pain began to increase. Ducky came over quickly.

"Timothy?"

"I can't do this, Ducky...not for the whole time."

"We expected as much. We wanted to keep you awake until we knew what would be happening. These will probably put you to sleep, but you will feel very little pain."

It didn't take any thought. Tim took the pills and swallowed them.

"Someone will be with you when you wake up again," Ducky promised.

"Could you stay here until I fall asleep?" Tim asked as the plane began to taxi for takeoff.

"Of course." Ducky offered his hand. Tim grabbed it and held on tightly.

The plane took off a few minutes later, but Tim was awake to feel it all. Finally, he felt the pain lessen.

Before they reached cruising altitude, he was asleep. Saudi Arabia now behind him.


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

The wheels touched down, jolting Tim painfully awake. He was extremely groggy.

"Where are we?"

"We just touched down for the last time, Probie," Tony said.

Tim struggled to get rid of the cobwebs in his head.

"Last time? When was the first time?" he mumbled.

"You were asleep, Timothy."

Tim yawned. "Oh."

"How are you feeling?" Ziva asked.

"Tired...hurt...okay..." Tim felt his eyes slip closed again.

"Just relax, McGee. We're safely landed."

Tim tried to wake up, but he felt himself pulled back toward sleep. That's what relaxation was going to do to him.

"Tired," he said again.

"You can sleep. It'll be fine."

"Okay..." Tim trusted whoever had said that...since he was more than halfway to sleep anyway.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, Ducky," Tony said. "What's in those pills?"

Ducky smiled. "Powerful pain relievers which have a side effect of causing drowsiness. Given how worn out Timothy has been, it does not surprise me in the least that he has slept during this trip. He has been in definite need of rest. Real rest. He knows he is safe in the air at least."

Indeed, Tim had remained asleep almost the entire flight, waking only twice. During his brief moments of waking, they had got him to eat and then take more of the pills...after which he had promptly fallen asleep again. The flight from Riyadh to Jackson Hole was long, nearly a full day with layovers and refueling.

"_We'll be taxiing for a few minutes. A couple of other private planes just landed and we're not advertising where we're from. Just sit tight."_

By the time they were in a position to disembark, Tim was still asleep. Ducky sat beside him and shook him gently.

"Timothy, it's time to go."

Again, they watched as Tim struggled back toward consciousness. This time, he managed to wake up enough to yawn. He looked sleepily at them all.

"I feel like I could sleep forever," he mumbled.

"Well, it's time to get off the plane, McGee," Tony said. "Can you stay awake for that?"

A slight shadow. "If you're going to move me, then I'll be awake."

"Only for a moment and we're in no rush this time," Ducky promised. "I can't guarantee no pain at all, but we have plenty of time to make you as comfortable as possible."

Tim nodded, but he was now more awake...anticipating the pain.

"So...where are we?" he asked, finally.

"Right now, we're in Wyoming," Tony said, "but we'll be in Idaho in a few hours."

"Idaho? Don't think I've been there."

"Neither have I," Ziva said. "Not much call to come to a place like this."

Tim smiled a little. "You never know."

Then, came the moment Tim had been dreading. Movement. Getting him off the plane and into the car.

"Here we go," Tony said as Gibbs carried a wheelchair onto the plane. "Your chariot."

Tim grimaced and nodded. Ducky and Tony helped him out of his seat and to the chair. Then, he was lifted as carefully as possible out of the plane. The pilot and Gibbs helped this time. Tim was jostled painfully once, but after that, it was fairly smooth. They got him into the car, talked to the pilots and then left the airport, heading for the Jackson Hole hospital.

"What are we telling them?" Tim asked.

"Serious injury. Apparently, we've already got one of the doctors to agree to make house calls."

Tim reached out and grabbed Gibbs' arm.

"Boss, how are you doing all this?"

"You'll see. Later."

Tim didn't like the sound of that...but at the moment, he knew that he wasn't being given a choice. He tried not to think about it. The trip to the hospital was uneventful. The doctor gave Tim a thorough examination...and didn't ask any questions about the source of Tim's injuries. Someone had already informed him of what he needed to know. He decided that it would be best to wait for a couple more weeks before deciding on whether or not surgery would be necessary. In the meantime, he'd give Tim physical therapy to help stimulate the healing of his nerves. They scheduled a time for him to come and Gibbs gave the address. Before they left Jackson, they also stopped to see an eye doctor who told them that Tim's eye would have to heal more before they could be sure on what correction he'd need. That was what Dr. Khouri had told them; so they loaded Tim back into the car and they headed over Jackson Pass and into Idaho. It wasn't a long trip, but Tim fell asleep again, in spite of his best efforts. The lingering effects of the pain pills he'd been given meant that he was still feeling extremely groggy.

It was Tony's exclamation of surprise that woke him up as they reached the house.

"Whoa...Boss, this is...nice."

Tim opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. He looked out the window as the car came around a last curve. There was only one house up there...on top of a hill, with a picture-perfect view of the mountains on one side and the valley spreading out below them on the other.

"It _is_ quite lovely," Ducky agreed. "A beautiful place for healing."

Tim's view was slightly blurry because of his eye, but even he could see that this was a crazy nice house. Unless this farming valley suddenly became a home for high rise apartment buildings (unlikely in the next century or more), no one would ever be able to block the perfect view this house had.

"How did you...get this house?" Tim asked.

"I've got connections," Gibbs said. "Let's get you inside."

Tim didn't like the feeling he was getting from Gibbs' continual evasions, but he nodded.

"Okay." He gritted his teeth as they lifted him out of the car and back into the wheelchair. He looked to the east as they rolled him toward the door. There was an amazing vista...after the sandy browns and oranges and yellows of Saudi Arabia, it was lovely to see the blue and greens...and the gray, rocky heights of the mountains. It was almost enough to distract him from the throbbing in his feet, the dull ache in his arm, and the weird feeling in his face from the surgical repairs.

As they came into the house, his mind was distracted from the amazing view by the lovely decor and tasteful furnishings. It wasn't gaudy, nor spartan. It was meant to be comfortable.

"Wow. I'm sold," Tony said. "I'll definitely stay here."

"Not for now, you won't," Gibbs said.

"Huh?"

Gibbs smiled. "If you're the one sticking around here, you're the one people are going to see. Go and find someplace to get groceries. We passed through a couple of towns on our way."

Tony opened his mouth to protest but then closed it quickly and nodded.

"On it, Boss. Any preferences, Probie?"

Tim shook his head but didn't speak. He was really worried about how in the world they were able to stay here.

"All right. Be back in a flash."

He maintained a light tone, but Tim could see that he was a bit uncomfortable. So was he, to tell the truth. The prospect of weeks and weeks in this house...with only Tony? That could end badly. Neither of them had ever spent so much time in each other's company...and with Tony feeling like he had to make up for things still? This could be bad.

There was a long silence after Tony left. Tim was facing one of the many many windows in the house. It seemed like there wasn't a room in the house that didn't have an amazing view. He sensed someone coming up behind him and he stiffened until he felt Ziva's hand on his arm.

"It is beautiful here," she said softly.

"Yeah."

"Will you be all right?"

Tim thought about that question. It was more complicated than it seemed at first. Living in this house? He'd probably be fine for as long as he stayed here. Even his well-developed paranoia had to give way to the fact that it was highly unlikely that anyone would think to look for him here...in Idaho. All right in general terms? In terms of his future life? He couldn't imagine that he would be. He could no longer fathom a world in which he'd ever feel safe. Just hearing Ziva walk up behind him had frightened him for a moment...and logically, he knew it was impossible that someone could be coming after him at that moment. Beside which...would the world itself be all right with Tim McGee living in it? ...and again, he couldn't fathom a positive answer to that question. Would he be all right?

"I don't know," he said softly. "I really don't know."

Ziva leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "We will be staying here for a few days while you get settled in here, but then we will have to leave. We will not even tell Director Shephard where you are."

"You could get in trouble for it."

"That does not matter." Ziva came around and crouched down in front of him. "You have lost a lot, McGee. You have given up so much for people who will never know what you have done. You have given up a lot for me...for Tony. Any trouble we might face will be worth facing if it keeps you safe."

"Will it?" Tim asked. "Will it really?"

"Forever? Probably not," Ziva said. "But speaking from my own experience, you will likely be safe here for quite some time."

Tim swallowed hard and nodded. He was suddenly possessed of a strong desire to start sobbing. He took a breath and let it out quickly. The exhalation was accompanied a soft whimper he couldn't suppress. Ziva said nothing, but she leaned forward and hugged him. Tim didn't cry, but a few tears escaped his control, leaving wet spots on Ziva's shoulder. When he had mastered the desire, he pulled back and turned his head, looking for Gibbs.

"Boss?" he said, knowing that his voice sounded shaky at best.

"Yeah?"

Gibbs walked over so that Tim didn't have to crane his neck to see him.

"How is this possible? How is it that you can get this house, that I can stay here indefinitely, that there's a doctor willing to drive over the mountain to make a house call? How?"

Gibbs met his gaze without flinching.

"McGee...I'm not going to tell you right now."

"But..."

Gibbs raised his hand. "I'm not going to lie to you, but for now, you don't need to know how I did this."

"What did you have to give up?" Tim asked, now really afraid.

"Nothing...except maybe a bit of my pride," Gibbs said with a slight smile. "I promise, McGee. I gave up nothing. I promised nothing to anyone. I didn't sacrifice anything to get this for you. I swear."

"Then, why won't you tell me?"

"Because it doesn't matter right now. Later, I'll tell you, but not now."

"Why?"

Gibbs leaned over. "Trust me, McGee. Just this once. Trust me."

Tim looked Gibbs in the eye, searching for any sign, no matter how slight, that would show something more going on. He saw nothing. He had asked Gibbs to trust him before. Now, it looked as though he would have to return the favor.

"Okay, Boss. I'll trust you."

"Good. Now, let's get you settled in here...and see what there is in this monstrosity."

Tim allowed himself to be directed to other things, but he couldn't forget what Gibbs had so carefully _not_ said. Ducky knew. Tim could tell by how the M.E. kept glancing at Gibbs while they toured the house. Did Tony and Ziva know? Tim couldn't tell because they weren't getting involved in the discussion at all. It could easily be that they'd already asked Gibbs and got no answer. ...or they could know and agreed with the need for secrecy.

Tim took a deep breath and tried to relax. He did trust them all to a certain extent. He did believe that they wanted him to be safe. It was all a matter of whether or not they actually _could_ do that. Could they?

As they wheeled him carefully out onto the deck which faced the Rocky Mountains, Tim tried to stop worrying about it, tried to stop looking around for someone watching him, for someone who would hurt him again. He tried to focus on what he could see.

The mountains were beautiful.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Now, I want to make one thing absolutely clear. There can be no trace of your surveillance. None."

Carew didn't often brief the CIA teams that went out. He had a lot of people to manage and there was a reason he had subordinates...but he had a personal interest in this and so he had to make sure that they understood that a screw up would _not_ be tolerated.

"You will not be watching an expert spy. Your target is a lot more observant. You will be watching over a man who fears and loathes being watched more than anything else in the world. You will be protecting a man who has no interest in being protected by us. He will be constantly searching, even without knowing it, for someone watching him. If you are discovered, if I receive even _one_ call of complaint about you, you'll be fired."

"Why is this man so important?"

"Because others have made him that way. His importance would be negligible if it wasn't for the fact that other people think he _must_ be important. We have the responsibility to make sure that no one, and that includes our sister agencies, _no one_ finds him and takes him away. You have the list of people who are to be passed through, and you will find that locals will probably make a few trips up that way. I am leaving it to your discretion to discern who is allowed and who is not...but do _not_ make a mistake. Understood?"

A nod. Nothing more. Whether they really understood or not, whether they agreed with his priorities or not, they would obey. He had learned his lesson in relying on records...a lesson that had led to the murder of his own son. These were people he knew he could trust...and in his world, trust was only reluctantly given.

As they walked out, Carew smiled to himself. Tim wouldn't appreciate it, but he was getting the absolute best protection that could be offered by the CIA. No one in the world, perhaps not even the President, was safer than he would be.

No, Tim wouldn't care about that, but Carew did and he would sleep more easily knowing that this team was watching over him.


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Tony drove down the steep, winding road and then turned left. He was sure of that direction, but he wasn't so sure about where he'd go after that. He hadn't admitted it, but he'd really not paid much attention to the towns they'd gone through. He'd been a lot more focused on whether or not Tim was feeling any pain...or rather more pain than he might otherwise be feeling.

The first town he got to declared itself to be Tetonia, a name he had no idea how to pronounce. The only place of note was a gas station, right across the street from a church. Then, the road split off, one part curving left and the other going straight. The straight road looked smaller than the curved, but Tony couldn't remember a curved road. He had thought it was all straight after they'd got over the mountain. So he veered to the right and went on the straight road.

He began to have doubts as soon as he hit the first bunch of trees. Was it a forest? There was a fence all along the road. They wouldn't need to fence in a forest, would they?

His doubts increased when he reached some rodeo grounds but saw no other sign of habitation beyond a house or two.

...and then, when the paved road became a gravel road, he knew he'd made the wrong choice. No matter how backwards this place seemed, he knew they hadn't ever been on a gravel road...even worse, a gravel road that apparently hadn't been maintained. He felt the washboard jolting the car as he drove. He stopped the car and looked around. Fields. Nothing but fields.

The next question was should he drive back to Tetonia (however it was pronounced) and go the other way that would surely lead him somewhere else or should he try one of the roads going east. He saw a place to turn off and decided to use that to turn around. As he started heading back, he came to an intersection. The road was paved to the right. Going east. Maybe he could take that road.

As he debated, he suddenly noticed there was a repetitive sound.

_Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!_

Then, a brief silence...and again.

_Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!_

He looked down the road he was contemplating taking and noticed someone walking along it...pausing every so often to...well, it looked to Tony like the person was taking the time to beat up every fence post as he...or she walked by.

_I don't have to get out of the car if it turns out to be a psycho,_ he thought and decided to drive over beside the fence hitter.

"Hey!" he called.

The person paused mid-swing and turned around.

"Hey," she said. "Can I help you?"

Well, she sounded normal enough. Definitely was dressed for working, not for fashion. Holey jeans, old muddy shoes, ripped and stained t-shirt...and well-used leather gloves.

"Yeah, I hope. ...what are you doing?"

She smiled. "Stapling the wires."

Tony responded with a blank look. Her grin widened and she pointed way down the road to where Tony could see some other people standing.

"My dad is down there stretching the wires. I'm attaching them to the posts with staples. See?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of U-shaped...things. Interested, Tony turned off the car and got out.

"Watch out for the water. It's wet down there."

Tony turned his step into a clumsy leap. She laughed a bit and then handed him a staple.

"These don't look like staples to _me_."

"Well, if all you're thinking of is paper staples, then they're not. These are fence staples." She turned back to the fence, lifted one of the strands of barbed wire and then began pounding in another staple. "You said you needed something?" she asked between _whacks_.

"Yeah...directions."

"Where to?"

"A grocery store."

She finished the staple and walked to the next post. Tony followed her.

"Which way are you coming from?"

"Uh...that way." He pointed north.

"Tetonia?"

Emphasis on the second syllable. Huh.

"Just outside it."

"You just move here?"

"Um...temporarily."

She furrowed her brow.

"Where?"

"A house back that way."

She smiled again. "Next thing you're going to tell me you bought the house on the hill."

"Well..._I_ didn't."

"You _are_ staying there?"

"How do you know about it?"

"_Everyone_ around here knows about that house. It kind of sticks out, you know? Besides, a million-dollar spec home in Teton Basin is something people talk about."

_So much for not being noticed,_ Tony thought ruefully.

"Million dollars?"

Again, her brow furrowed. "How are you staying there if you don't even know what it costs?"

"Long story. A...friend is loaning it to me and a friend of mine. Can you tell me where a grocery store is?"

"Sure." She pounded in another staple and then walked again, forcing him to follow her. "Keep following this road until you come to Highway 33."

"And how will I know?"

"It'll be the first paved road going north-south that you come to," she said with a grin. "There are grocery stores in Driggs." She looked him up and down. "But if you're wanting something special, you'll have to go either to Jackson or to Idaho Falls. Driggs is growing but not that much."

"Why would you think I'd want something special?"

She shrugged. "You don't look like the farming type."

"Maybe I _am_ a farmer."

She laughed. "Right. And I'm a graceful ballerina."

Tony tried a flirty look. "You don't look so bad to me."

He was surprised when there was no reaction, either positive or negative. She just walked to the next post and pounded another staple.

"I wasn't born on a Tuesday. I was born on a Saturday."

"Huh?"

Without looking at him, she began to recite. "Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is full of grace. Wednesday's child is full of woe. Thursday's child has far to go. Friday's child is loving and giving. Saturday's child works hard for a living."

"What about Sunday?" Tony asked, smiling.

"Oh, I can't ever remember what Sunday is...but it's basically the perfect child...which I am not. Anything else I can help you with? I do have to keep working here or my family will never let me hear the end of it...and they tease me enough as it is."

"Actually, yeah, there _is_ something else."

"You mind leaving your car in the road like that?"

Tony looked back. "Doesn't seem to have much competition for space."

She chuckled. "No, and it won't, most likely. Unless you get some farm equipment coming, but it should be fine."

"You nervous about talking to me?"

She stopped pounding. "A little...but as long as you stay on your side of the fence, we'll get along fine."

"That's enough for you?"

She held up the hammer. "This isn't just good for pounding staples."

Tony held up his hands with a smile. "Point taken."

"What else did you need?"

"I was hoping for some tips."

"On what?"

"How to fit in."

She started pounding another staple. "Become a farmer?" she suggested.

"Ha. Not likely. This doesn't look like any fun."

"It's not...although there _is_ something satisfying about it. You don't want to stick out?"

"No."

"Well, you're going to."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because this is a small area. Locals will know you're not from here, and if you go around wearing plaid or something like that, they're _really_ going to notice, because...no offense, but I don't think you could pull it off."

Tony smiled. He'd pulled off a lot worse than a plaid shirt, but that didn't matter. No sense in making this woman more curious about what he was doing here than she probably already was.

"How about so I could stick out a little _less_?"

She stopped and wiped at her forehead, squinting up at the sun as she thought. "Well, no Armani suits. ...and if you do most of your shopping in Driggs, you'll get less notice since they're getting a few more tourists now than they used to. Don't hedge about where you're living if they ask. You'll only make us Idahoans more curious about you. The house on the hill is an object of local interest. ...but beyond that...well, I'm not really from here myself; so if there's a definite secret, then I can't tell you what it is. Teton Basin isn't the same as it was when I was younger."

"This isn't your farm?"

"Oh, it's my family's farm, but we don't live here. We just work up here." She looked over at the mountains. "Pretty, though, isn't it?"

"For a rural place."

"City boy. I knew it."

"Guilty as charged," Tony said. He tried another flirtatious look, but once again, either she didn't notice it or she ignored it.

She walked on to the next post. "Well, don't try to lord your city-ness over us country folk. We don't like that. Just because _you_ think cities are so great doesn't mean we agree. Some of us have tried cities and hate them."

"Like you?" Tony asked.

"Like me," she said with a smile. "Seven years and I discovered you can't take the country out of this girl."

"You really prefer beating up a fence to living in a city?"

She laughed at his description. "Those are my only two choices?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yes. I do." She looked at him again. "Now, if you keep following me, my family is going to start thinking I have a boyfriend and they'll never let me live it down."

"You can't have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, I could and they'd love it if I did...and they'd never let me hear the end of it."

Tony stuck out his hand. "Well, thanks for your help. I'm Tony."

She looked at his hand and grinned. She pulled off her big leather glove, revealing a hand that seemed a whole lot smaller in comparison, and shook it.

"_That_ will fit."

"What will?"

"Shaking hands. I'm Jodi."

"That fits in?"

"Yes. Definitely." She put back on the glove and then pointed down the road. "East and turn right at Highway 33. Got it?"

"Got it. Thanks. See you around?"

"Not likely because I'm not here much, but maybe." She then smiled, almost hesitantly. "Have a nice time in Teton Valley, Tony."

Tony turned on the patented DiNozzo-charm and finally, _finally_, she seemed to notice...and blushed a little.

"I've still got thirty more posts to staple."

"Have fun."

"Yeah. Right."

Tony jumped back across the ditch and headed back to his car.

_Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!_

He looked back and saw Jodi heading toward another post. She looked back once and waved...with her hammer. He chuckled and got back into the car...and drove east. As he passed the people who must be her family, they stared and he waved at them, too.

A very nice diversion from what had been going on. For a few minutes, Tony had been able to forget all about Saudi Arabia, torture, and the chaos that had engulfed his life (and everyone else's, too). He felt a little guilt about it. After all, Tim couldn't get away from that, not ever...but still... Tony took a deep breath and drove. When he got to an intersection with a paved road, he saw that it was the road he wanted.

A moment of escape and now back to reality. He headed for a grocery store.


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Tony seemed different when he came back to the house. He'd been gone for quite a while, but there was a...lightness to him that hadn't been there before. Everyone noticed it, but no one commented on it. They made dinner as a kind of breaking in of the house. Tim had to eat carefully, but it was the first regular meal he'd had that wasn't hospital food in a long time.

After dinner, Ducky sat with Tim and talked. Ziva volunteered to clear up the meal and Gibbs gestured for Tony to join him out on the deck.

Tony leaned against the railing and looked at the mountains, currently lit up by the setting sun.

"Had a good time?"

Tony smiled. "Yeah. Got lost and met a girl who gave me directions. It was...just normal."

"Not much of that lately, huh?" Gibbs said.

"No. ...really, not for years. We just didn't realize how _not _normal it was in between."

"Yeah. You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah, sure. McGee and me. We're pals. This house is so big we won't have to see each other at _all_ if we don't want to."

Gibbs said nothing...but Tony got serious.

"It's going to be weird...but I'll stick it out. It's not like we can leave him alone."

"You ready to handle being the one who takes care of him?"

"Tim and I will talk about that...and we'll agree that it's going to be awkward, but we can handle it."

"You ready to deal with all the things that could go wrong?"

"Like what?"

"Like McGee catching on to who's paying for this house. Like McGee deciding that he's going to give up. Like the unlikely possibility of someone finding him."

"I'm not letting him give up. If he figures it out, I'll tell him I didn't agree with your decision...since I don't. Someone finds him...fine. I'd like the chance to pay them back."

"Who are you going to pay back?"

"Anyone. I don't care who. If they're looking for McGee, they're not doing anything good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The others stuck around for a few days, helping Tony and Tim get settled in their temporary home. None of them actually wanted to go. Tim's reappearance had been so welcome and his injuries both physically and psychologically were so shocking that they all wanted to stay to help him recover, but they were all aware that the more strangers in the area the more likely they'd be noticed. Even more importantly, the longer they were absent from DC, the more likely they'd be tracked down and Tim would be found by people who didn't care about his well-being.

So they began to pack up. Still dependent, however gallingly, upon the magnanimity of Levi Carew, they would be taking the CIA plane back to DC, after a few other stops to disguise their path.

And the time had come, finally, to say their good-byes, not knowing how long it would be before they'd see Tim again, and knowing that the end result of this attempt to help Tim heal was very much up in the air. After all their efforts, Tim might still choose to give up the fight for his life. Tony had much to do in remaining behind. While he couldn't force Tim to do anything and although the doctor would be tending to his injuries, Tony was to be Tim's only constant link to his life...and the often-prickly nature of their interactions could be either good or bad. Then, too, at the back of everyone's mind was the possibility that Carew would suddenly show himself devious and try to take Tim over himself.

...so it was hard to say good-bye.

Tim was in his wheelchair, unsure of what to say, unsure of how he felt about it all. He was back in his own country, freed from captivity, his life saved, his body, slowly and painfully, but also surely, healing. ...and yet, he was in hiding, wishing for the whole pointless struggle to be over and wondering what would happen to him next.

They'd had lunch together and now were simply lingering, delaying the moment of departure.

Ziva approached him first. She kissed him gently on his healing cheek and only whispered "shalom" in his ear. Then, she withdrew with a smile.

"Thank you," Tim whispered in reply.

Ducky approached next. He was uncharacteristically brief.

"I'm very glad to see you safely here and I will look forward to your full recovery...and it _can_ happen, I promise. Since Abigail can't be here, I will do what she would wish to do."

Tim smiled and let Ducky hug him gently.

Finally, Gibbs came over to him. He squeezed Tim's uninjured arm.

"You'll make it, McGee," he said.

Tim looked behind to where Ziva was hugging Tony and Ducky shaking his hand. His eyes moved back to Gibbs.

"Where to?" he asked with the slightest bit of sarcasm.

Gibbs just smiled and let him go. He patted Tony on the shoulder and then they all left...and left Tim and Tony by themselves.

Tony looked awkwardly at Tim. Until Tim's arm healed, he couldn't even wheel himself around the house. He was utterly dependent upon someone else to get him around, out of bed, and so on...

"So...McGee...what now?"

Tim smiled weakly. "Well...I'd rather not be sitting out here in the middle of the room."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I'd like to go out on the deck for a while, if you don't mind."

"Okay. You want company?"

Tim's smile widened. "I think we're going to get sick of each other soon enough as it is."

Tony chuckled. "Good point. Just shout when you want to come back in."

Tim nodded carefully and then tensed as Tony grasped the handles, ready for the slight jolt that always accompanied movement for him. Tony put a hand on his shoulder for just a moment and then eased Tim forward. Tim clenched his jaw as the expected pain came. It was considerably less than it had been. He was on some pain medication now, but anything strong enough to remove _all_ the pain would also knock him out and that was no good.

Tony wheeled him out to the deck.

"Here all right, McGee?"

"Yeah. Fine," Tim said. The position wasn't particularly important. Especially here. The view was spectacular no matter where he sat on the deck. Besides, the view wasn't why he wanted to come out...or it wasn't _only_ the view.

Tony left him alone on the deck and Tim sighed as he looked around. It was very nice to be back in a place where the dominant colors weren't shades of brown. Now, granted Idaho wasn't nearly so green and developed as DC, but its wildness had a softer, less dangerous quality to it than The Empty Quarter had. He didn't feel _safe_ exactly, but he was better off than he had been.

What would happen here now? The physical therapist would be coming out daily to help him. Soon, they'd decide whether or not surgery was necessary for his feet. ...but how long would it take for him to walk without pain? He knew that nerve damage could sometimes be permanent...which would mean a lifetime of pain.

Tim reached out his uninjured arm and grabbed hold of the railing of the deck. He pulled himself forward and then rested his head against it, hiding the mountains from his view. This was going to take a _long_ time. He wasn't sure he had the time required in his allotment of endurance. This was, by far, the worst he'd suffered physically in the last few years. He could have gone blind in one eye. He could never walk again. ...and he came close to dying. When he thought about it in detail, it shocked him deeply. It seemed so ridiculous. He wasn't the kind of person who was important enough to warrant being "recruited", being attacked, being taken and tortured. He was a geek. That's all.

...and yet, he no longer really felt that way. He had become important, not through any effort of his own but because other people had _decided_ he mattered.

It was a dichotomy. He shouldn't be important but he was...but he really wasn't...but people _thought_ he was. If he could only get everyone to _stop_ thinking he was so incredibly important...

...but that didn't seem to be possible. Some sort of lacunas in his memory, an excising of the important information from his mind. If there was a way, some way to take a scalpel to his brain and cut out all that everyone felt vital to control. He would be happy to hand over those parts of his brain possessing that data and be rid of them forever.

Lifting his head, Tim looked at the dramatic peaks on the eastern portion of the valley. They were beautiful. He was reminded, in a way, of the Montana mountains he'd seen last year. Granted, he had been running for his life at the time, but he rather suspected that he'd be able to see the stars quite well here, as he had before.

Would he ever be able to touch that other world again? The world of his former self, the man who woke up in the morning and thought only of his routine, his normal life, his only worries being whatever case came up and whether or not Tony would bother him too much.

The sun headed westward, casting light, making shadows on the mountains. Would he ever have an unjaded view of the world around him again? Or would he always look around and see that other world? The corrupt and dangerous world full of people who wanted nothing more than to cause pain, to damage, to use, to destroy.

Tim looked back over his shoulder. Tony was in the main room, watching TV, the flickering light reflecting on his face. Tony was another adversely affected by this new world Tim lived in now. How had it not changed him? He was more serious, but he was still the same person Tim had known before. In fact, Tony didn't live in this world. He might visit occasionally, but he didn't stay. Tim was jealous of that ability. He looked back at mountains. Tall, unmoving, piles of rocks tracing out the sky.

What was he going to do? Tim didn't know.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

Tim looked back. Tony was standing in the doorway.

"You hungry yet?"

"I guess."

"Come on in."

"Okay."

Tony wheeled him back into the house.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

_Two months later..._

Tim wrenched open the sliding door and wheeled himself out onto the deck. Then, he shoved the door closed as tightly as he could and rolled to the edge of the deck before coming to an abrupt stop, staring at the Tetons.

Tony watched him go and took a deep breath before looking at David, Tim's physical therapist...whose eyes were wide open.

"I..."

Tony shook his head. The outbursts had been getting more frequent in the last couple of weeks, but this was definitely the first time Tim had lost it in front of someone other than Tony.

"Not your fault."

"I only suggested that he might get more sleep if he thought about talking to someone about whatever had happened. It's clearly a traumatic event, even if I don't know what it is. I'm not stupid, for all that I grew up around here."

"It's _really_ not your fault, and you're right. He knows it, too."

"Should I plan on coming back tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tim will know that it's necessary."

"You sure of that?"

Tony chuckled. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Shucks."

Tony laughed again. "He'll be very apologetic."

"Really?" David asked, clearly skeptical.

"Yeah. Tim will be feeling bad in about ten minutes, and when you come back, he'll be embarrassed and falling over himself trying to apologize."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You'll see. Sorry about this."

"We were just about done anyway."

"Thanks."

David packed up his stuff and left the house and Tony groaned. The surgery on Tim's feet had been done a month ago and, since then, Tim's recovery had been fraught with frustration...which was really covering up Tim's fear of never getting better, never walking, never being without pain. His arm had healed perfectly which had eased the awkwardness of Tony having to help Tim shower...and use the bathrom...and get dressed. They were _both_ ecstatic about that particular development. Tim had contacts which he could now wear...now that both of his arms worked and his face had healed. He had some bad scarring around his left eye, but it worked which was the important thing.

The remaining issue was his feet. The pain had lessened considerably, but the kind of pressure required by simple walking was too much for Tim to bear still. David kept Tim's muscles limber through some exercises, and Tony had made the fortuitous discovery of the endless pool in the basement. They both used it, although Tony's reason was just because it was a novelty. For Tim, it gave him valuable exercise that he couldn't get through running...or even walking yet.

...and Tim was afraid. Today, the very-reasonable suggestion that he talk to someone about his psychological issues had been the thing that drove him over the edge. Yesterday, it had been when Tony was too solicitous. Last week, it had been because Tony had heard him have a nightmare. The fact that Tim had become infuriated at someone outside the small circle of people he trusted might just be the catalyst to get him to agree to seeing a psychiatrist. The doctor had given Tony a list, with one name at the top of that list. The CIA might want to keep things under wraps, but they weren't here right now, and Tony saw this as an opportunity that might never come up again. Tim would have the chance to pick just who he wanted, someone without the endorsement of the CIA.

Squaring his shoulders, he headed out to the deck. Tim jumped a little at the sound of the door opening.

"Tim."

"Yeah." It wasn't a question. Tim knew, or _thought_ he knew, what Tony was coming out to talk to him about. "That was stupid of me."

Tony chuckled, even though it wasn't funny. "Yeah, it was. You know David's only trying to help."

"I know."

"Tim?"

"What?"

"He's right."

"Don't _you_ start on me now," Tim spat out.

Still angry instead of letting Tony see how frightened he was.

"Start on you how? Like I did yesterday because I opened the door for you? Like a couple of days ago when I stood up to hand you the remote? What am I supposed to _not_ do, Tim? Believe it or not, not everything I do is because I feel guilty about what you did for us."

"Too much of it is, still. Just let it go."

"Like you're letting all this go?"

Tim spun around in his chair. "I was _tortured_, Tony! I was abducted and tortured and I almost died. I think I have license to be upset about that!"

"Yeah. You do. ...and how many people do you think recover from that kind of thing without help? Heck, _I_ went to a shrink for weeks, months. So does Ziva."

Tim's expression became blank. The mask. Tony hated it when Tim did this. He wasn't as good at it as he had been before...because he wasn't in control of his emotions anymore. Still, it was annoying that Tim was _still_ trying to avoid talking about what _really_ needed to be talked about.

"Do you really think you're better off sitting here, sulking in your wheelchair, terrified that this time the damage is permanent..."

"Shut up!"

"...than you would be talking with someone who can really help you?" Tony finished.

"Shut up, Tony."

"No. Tim, this is stupid. What you're doing here is stupid. You are a _lot_ smarter than this."

"We don't live in the same world, Tony!" Tim shot back. "You don't know what you're talking about! You can't because it isn't _you_ sitting in this chair. It's me. What put me here? You didn't go through it. I did. It has nothing to do with you."

"Yes, it does!" Tony shouted back. "It does because the only reason they knew who you are is because _I'm_ the one who told them! Get that through your thick skull, McGee! They would _never_ have known who you were and where you were if it hadn't been for the fact that _I _told them. I gave them your name. I told them who you were! It has _everything_ to do with me!"

"No, it doesn't!" Tim said. "The whole reason you were there in the first place was because they were trying to get to me. They would have found out somehow. That's how my luck goes. A period of respite and then back into the fire again. Every time I go in, I wonder if I'll be coming out again. This isn't you, Tony. It's me. So stop trying to act like you get it. You don't. None of you _ever_ have and you never will."

"And that gives you the excuse to sit here and _not_ do anything to get better?"

"I don't think I need an excuse."

"Yeah, you do...because you know that you could be better, but for whatever reason, you're not interested in getting better. You'd _rather_ sit here in your self-imposed isolation and ignore any attempts by any of us to understand, to help, to...to help you see how wrong you are."

"Wrong? About what?"

"There's only one world, Tim."

"Huh?"

"You said we don't live in the same world...but guess what, Tim. There's only one world. It can't be that you're living in one world and the rest of us are living in another. It's the same place. You just need to open your eyes and admit that there's nothing keeping you from living in the world...except you!"

Tim looked at Tony, almost in shock...and he didn't say anything. Tony let out a whoosh of air in frustration and turned to go back into the house and leave Tim to stew.

"'The world is given to me only once...not one existing and one perceived.'"

Tony turned back. Tim's voice had completely changed. He sounded...almost like himself.

"What?"

Tim looked at him with a strange expression. It wasn't anger. Tony wasn't even sure what it was. It wasn't something he'd seen on Tim's face for a long time.

"'The world is given to me only once, not one existing and one perceived,'" Tim repeated, his voice soft. "'Subject and object are only one. The barrier between them cannot be said to have been broken down by recent experience in the physical sciences, for this barrier does not exist.'"

"What does that mean?"

Schrodinger said that...against the Copenhagen Interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by Heisenberg."

"I didn't understand a single word you just said," Tony said, trying to lighten the mood that had suddenly become much more dour than it had been...and he had no idea why.

Tim turned away from Tony and toward the mountains.

"The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states that you can't know everything about particles. You can only know probabilities. No one can know everything. Schrodinger didn't like the implications of it. He said that there's only one world. You can't say that there's a world you see and a world that exists. Only one world."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Your brain is a weird place. I can't think of one other person who would use some obscure physics...thing to describe your life."

Tim let out a small laugh.

"What can I say? I'm messed up."

"That's not what I meant, Tim."

"I know...but you're right. I'm _so_ messed up. I don't really even remember feeling any other way anymore. It's really like a whole different world. ...but I know that it's all the same world. ...but I can't even fathom...being...normal again." Tim cleared his throat. "I can't...imagine living a normal life. Tony, I wake up every morning and I wonder how much pain I'll feel. I wake up in the middle of the night because of nightmares...but they're dreams about reality. Death and pain. That's all there is...all that I can see."

Tony perched on the railing.

"That's why you should talk to someone, Tim. Someone who can help you see more. I mean...it's not like we've been able to do that for you. And we've tried. This is a lot bigger than what we can deal with."

"I'm not supposed to talk to anyone who hasn't been approved by the CIA."

"And you're never going to accept anyone approved by the CIA. Look: the CIA isn't here watching you. You can do what you want. Carew won't know."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Tim said. "He's more omniscient than Gibbs."

"Bite your tongue, Probie. That's blasphemy."

Tim smiled weakly, and Tony sobered.

"Seriously, Tim. You've got to do _something_. This isn't working anymore. It _never_ worked, but it's not getting better with you pretending that you don't need the help. You know you _do_ need it."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out...with some tears. Tony saw it now. He was actually seeing Tim afraid.

"What if..." Nothing else. Just the uncertainty that scared Tim so much. There were more scars than could be seen on the outside. Tim had internal scars that hadn't ever been seen really. Certainly never dealt with.

"Tim...I'm really sorry that..."

"Don't. Don't, Tony. Don't go back down that road. We can't keep retreading that ground. It's..." He shook his head. "It's too hard to deal with that."

"But if we don't deal with it, we won't get over it."

"...but I can't."

"Maybe if you talk to someone, you _will_ be able to."

"You're not giving up on that, are you."

"Nope."

Tim sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting upward.

"I have a list of shrinks."

"Why?"

"Because the doc gave me one the last time we went to Jackson."

"Oh."

"Tim."

Another sigh and Tim put out his hand.

"Give me the list."

Tony smiled in triumph and pulled it out of his pocket. Tim responded with a small smile.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah. I guess. I feel bad about shouting at David."

"I told him you would. You just have to apologize tomorrow."

"I will."

"I know. At the risk of sounding like your mom, I'm going in to make dinner and I'll call you when it's ready."

Tim chuckled. "Okay."

Tony slipped back into the house, feeling like there was something that had been accomplished there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim looked at the names on the list. It was a short list. Jackson wasn't exactly a center for psychiatric help. Still...he sighed and looked at the list.

"Dr. Woodrow Hicks," he said aloud. He was the shrink his doctor had most highly recommended..._and_ he was about the only one willing to make house calls. He rather thought that Gibbs had told his doctor more than he should have...but if that was the case, Dr. Hicks probably _was_ the one who would be able to help most.

He shoved the list in his pocket and knew he'd have to do something about it. Tony wouldn't let him put it off.

...and he knew he shouldn't. So he rolled back into the house and over to where Tony was cooking.

"I'll call tomorrow," Tim said.

Tony just looked up and smiled...and then went back to cutting up a tomato. Tim knew he felt he'd won...and he had.

...and Tim knew that he was right.


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Dr. Hicks pulled up to the house and smiled. Carew never did things small if he could do them big. But this was a beautiful spot...and easily defended should it come to that. Top of a hill, not much cover for people who might want to invade. As he looked out over the hill, he thought he caught a flash from binoculars. _That_ would be reported. If Tim was as paranoid as Carew had said, he would notice something like that and make assumptions. They might even be _correct_ assumptions.

He smiled ruefully at the thought. Would he have any idea that there was a CIA psychiatrist stationed in Jackson, Wyoming, just on the offchance that he would finally accept that he needed psychiatric help? Dr. Hicks doubted that even Timothy McGee's paranoia stretched that far...and he would make sure that he gave Tim no reason to suspect. His job here was _first_ to help Tim heal. Reporting to the CIA was secondary...and actually, it might not even be necessary at all. Carew rarely tried to get him to violate doctor-patient privilege. He was glad because he enjoyed his job and if he were asked to do that, he would have to quit.

As he reached the door, he knocked, just as it started to open.

"I'm _really_ sorry for shouting at you yesterday, David. Really."

"And it's okay, Tim. Really. You've already apologized at least 20 times. You don't need to shoot for 50."

Dr. Hicks stood aside and David jumped slightly.

"Oh! Sorry. I didn't see you there," he said.

"That's all right. I guess we're both right on time. I'm Dr. Woodrow Hicks."

"David Morgan. I'm Tim's physical therapist."

"I may be Mr. McGee's psychiatrist. We'll see if the fit is right."

Tim rolled into view and Dr. Hicks looked at him appraisingly. Not a bad-looking guy. He had plenty of scars on his face at the moment, and he could see that there were a lot of psychological issues. He was edgy, nervous...afraid. He was also angry, probably just at the situation in which he found himself. There might even be some self-loathing, based on what Carew had said about his previous experiences.

"Dr. Hicks?" Tim asked.

"That's right."

Tim hesitated and then put out a hand. Scars on the bare arm. On both arms, actually. Scars on the bare legs, but older ones. Plenty of injuries this one had been through, but Dr. Hicks would wager that the psychological injuries were worse.

"David, I..."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tim. No more apologies."

Tim smiled and nodded.

"Right. Bye."

David left and Tim looked almost wary.

"Well, Mr. McGee..."

"Just Tim."

"Okay. Is there a private place we can talk? I'm assuming that whatever we have to talk about you'll want to keep private."

"Well...most of what I have to say..." Tim paused and then looked at him worriedly. "I might be...putting you in danger by talking to you at all. Maybe this wasn't a good idea."

Dr. Hicks smiled.

"Your doctor told me somewhat of your physical injuries, Tim. I'd like to show you something and then you can decide if I'm a bad choice."

Tim furrowed his brow as Dr. Hicks sat down on a chair and began removing his shoes.

"What are you–?"

Dr. Hicks just smiled and pulled off his socks. He then held up his feet so that Tim could see the soles. The reaction he got was exactly what he expected: a moment of incomprehension...and then horrified understanding.

"You were..."

"I was twenty. I spent over a year trying to heal enough to walk again. They broke every bone in my feet. They weren't content with just beating them. They crushed them, too."

"I...can't believe that...you're walking at all."

"It was a near thing. Don't ever ask me to run. I can't...or at least not very far. Walking, I can manage. Running hurts too much."

"Really?"

"I doubt you'll have that problem. For one thing, I was a prisoner for nearly a year. How long were you?"

"A few weeks."

"That's bad enough, but probably you'll be okay. The short version is that I'm not unfamiliar with the kinds of things you might have faced, and I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

"Maybe you can't."

"Try me."

"But if you're wrong, there's no going back."

"True enough, but I'm willing to take the risk." Dr. Hicks smiled. "Are you willing to risk trusting someone like me?"

Tim looked at him and then away.

"Try trusting. It makes life so much better."

"How long did it take you?"

"It took some time, but I had a lot of people pulling for me. It made it easier."

Tim didn't meet his gaze.

"So...are you all right with trying me out?"

Tim nodded mutely.

"Good. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?"

"This way," Tim mumbled and wheeled himself away, leaving Dr. Hicks to follow after him, shoes and socks in hand.

"Hey! You the shrink?"

Dr. Hicks turned toward the voice and saw the man who must be staying with Tim. He smiled.

"Dr. Hicks. You are?"

"Tony...and I already have a shrink of my own. I don't need another one."

"So noted."

"We're going into the study, Tony," Tim said.

"All righty. I'm going to venture into the booming metropolis of _Driggs_ to get groceries. So have fun!"

"Right."

Dr. Hicks waved at Tony with his shoes and socks and then walked after Tim into the study.

"You can sit down anywhere."

"This is a nice house," Dr. Hicks observed, probing to see if Tim was aware of the owner of the house.

"It's not mine. I'm just using it," Tim said.

"Lucky you. If you're going to convalesce somewhere, this is a nice place to do it."

Tim nodded. "Yeah. So...how does this go? The last time I talked to a shrink was when I had a mental breakdown. I wasn't exactly in my right mind."

"It goes however you want it to go. There's not a set method."

Tim took a breath and stared at his hands.

"It's not that I don't know that I need the help...it's just that...that I'm not...used to talking about it. It's always been so...so dangerous. It seems like every time I tell someone...something bad happens."

"Okay. Why don't you start at the beginning, then, Tim. I don't have a full history, but it sounds like there's been more going on than what must have happened this year."

"There's...a _lot_ more. Going back four years."

"Four?" Dr. Hicks actually _was_ surprised by that. He had known that there was more going on, but four years and only one time when he'd talked to a psychiatrist? That was negligence on the part of the people who should have been looking out for him.

"Yeah. Four. It started out when I helped...a group of people track down and...and kill other people. I..." Tim shook his head. "I hate even _thinking_ about it anymore. ...but I still think about it. Still dream about it...pretty regularly. That was the beginning...and it's really only gone downhill from there."

"Okay. That's a good summary, but let's really get into it, Tim. You know there's a problem. You know you need help solving it. ...and let me assure that everything you say to me is private. I will not share the information with anyone unless you allow me to. That's a promise. Just because we're meeting in your house instead of my office doesn't change doctor-patient privilege. Understand?"

Tim nodded and took a deep breath.

"We'll start at the beginning and you can tell me what you still feel is unresolved."

Another nod and Tim swallowed. He seemed to steel himself to raise his head, but he did. He looked Dr. Hicks in the eye.

"I'm a murderer. People keep telling me that I'm not, but I helped kill more than twenty people. I helped track them down and I watched as they died...and I hated every minute of it...and sometimes...sometimes, I wish that...that I had died when I thought I was going to die. I wish that...everything had ended back then, four years ago. Then, I wouldn't have to be afraid of being watched, afraid of being taken again, afraid of becoming a worse person than I already am." Another swallow, and his lower lip trembled slightly. "I'm afraid of the kind of person I could become...and I'm even more afraid that I'm already that person."

Dr. Hicks nodded in understanding, and while it was really late in the game for Tim to be getting help, it was better late than never. Tim _needed_ this. He'd been needing it for a long time, and he only hoped that he could do something to help. His paycheck might be coming from the CIA, not from the Jackson hospital, but his concern for Tim had nothing to do with Carew wanting to have him available. It had everything to do with helping a young man who was on the verge of losing everything that made life worth living.

He leaned forward. "Remember: I'm not judging you. I'm here to help. I can't help if I don't know what's going on. You said that you were working with a group of people. Who were they?" It was a leading question. He was aware of who they had been, but he wanted to see how much Tim would tell him.

"They said they were patriots, that they were saving the country...and they said I'd help them...or my family and friends would be killed."

"So you helped them. That's perfectly understandable. You were in a lose-lose situation, a Catch-22. There's no way you could have won."

Tim shook his head despondently. "I tried to find some way, but I couldn't...because the only way I could have stopped the danger to my friends would be if I...died...and back then, I didn't want to!"

"That's not a bad thing, Tim. It's definitely not a crime to want to live."

Tim sniffed and the tears were closer. He didn't like to cry. He didn't _want_ to cry. Dr. Hicks could see in him the vestiges of the mask that Carew had perfected. Tim didn't _want_ that mask, but he also was afraid of letting out the emotions he was suppressing for fear that they'd crush him.

"Feels like it is. Feels like...like I'm...already being punished for wanting it."

"_Falaqa_ is _not_ a just punishment for _anything_, Tim," Dr. Hicks said firmly. "Your being tortured has nothing to do with what you deserve. Nothing. Don't let yourself fall into that trap. It's too dangerous a place to let your mind go."

Tim was two seconds away from breaking down. Dr. Hicks knew he didn't want to let that out in front of a virtual stranger, but he also knew that expressing emotions he didn't want to express would be a good beginning, a way of letting him gain some trust in another person. Would Tim feel betrayed if he knew that he was confiding in a CIA psychiatrist? Probably right now he would. Maybe later on he'd understand the necessity of it and see that Dr. Hicks was on his side. Maybe not. For now, that didn't matter. Only helping Tim recover mattered.

"They...wanted what I knew. That's...all...anyone ever wants from me," Tim said...and the tears escaped from his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. "When they don't get it...it's my fault and...and I'm punished for it. The...The problem is that it happens no matter who wants what I know, what I can do. Those people in the beginning of all this...then, the government...then...the other federal agencies who are willing to make me disappear just so that they have access to what I can do." He wiped at the tears. "...and then, the people who are...willing to...to...torture me to get what they want. ...and _I_ don't matter at all! Not to any of them! They don't care about me...not even the people who _should_! ..and I don't know how to fight that anymore. I don't know what to do to..." Tim closed his eyes, but that couldn't stem the tide of falling tears. "...to survive like this anymore. I can't...I just can't."

As Tim cried, Dr. Hicks heard and understood a lot more than Tim probably thought he did...and he didn't like it. He was starting to see more and more the underlying reasons for Carew's decision. Tim was broken. The attacks from all sides had finally broken him, and if he had the slightest chance of getting his freedom back, he had to be repaired.

"Tim...look at my feet."

Tim raised his eyes enough to see the old scars.

"They've healed. Not perfectly, but they have. I can walk. I have a life that I enjoy. You're fighting something I didn't have to fight, but you can have a life again."

He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Tim's shoulder.

"The beginning of all this does not justify anything that's happened since. Nothing you've done deserves what's happened to you. I want you to think about something."

"What?"

"You are a human being, Tim. Others have forgotten that, but you _can't_. Don't let yourself get pulled into what other people think about you...because that's what's happening. You're giving up on your humanity because you don't see any other option. I don't blame you for that, but it's wrong. There's another option."

"What is that?"

"Healing. When your mind...your _soul_ has healed, you'll have more power than you know what to do with."

Tim smiled hopelessly and shook his head.

"It's true. I'm not lying, and I'm going to help you see that I'm right...and then, later on, I'll say that I told you so."

Tim let out a tear-filled laugh.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Good. From the beginning. Walk me through the chronology. Leave as little out as you can. If we don't finish today, we will next time. Ready?"

Tim took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready. It started when...when I was contacted by a woman who called herself my handler..."


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Tony intentionally drove on the back road he'd gotten lost on before, just to see if Jodi was there.

She wasn't.

That was a little disappointing, but not overly so. He was okay with it. He'd known there was little chance of catching her here if she didn't make a habit of coming to the valley. However, he still pulled off the road. It was time for him to check in with Gibbs in any case. They did this very carefully.

Gibbs had actually bought a burn phone. Abby had programmed it. Tony had a different phone as well. They had scheduled times to call. If the timing was right, Tony would call.

That was now...and with Tim finally seeing a shrink, it seemed like a good time to report in. This was a very good thing as far as he was concerned. That Dr. Hicks had seemed very competent and he'd dealt with Tim's worries really well so far as he could tell.

Tony dialed the number.

"_What is it, Tony?"_

"Hey, Boss. Things are going a bit better."

"_How?"_

"McGee is finally seeing a shrink."

"_Where did you find him?"_

"The doc in Jackson recommended him...and he's about the only one who was willing to make the trip over the mountain to see Tim. ...and, Boss, I think Tim trusts him."

"_Why?"_

"He showed him his feet. Said he'd been beaten when he was younger. I didn't hear everything, of course, but Tim didn't throw him out...didn't yell at him. They were talking when I left."

"_You sure that he's okay?"_

"As sure as I can be, Boss. Can't distrust everyone."

"_Yeah."_

Tony looked at the mountains. Not his choice of locale, but still rather nice view.

"Tim blew up yesterday at his physical therapist. He's apologetic, but that was what got him to finally agree to see anyone. At least he doing it. He's needed this for a long time."

"_Yeah. Any sign of whether or not he's going to walk yet?"_

"Not yet. So far, all it seems like David's been doing is making sure that Tim's muscles don't atrophy while his feet are healing. They don't hurt him as bad, but Tim's a long way from walking."

"_He realize who owns the house yet?"_

"Not yet...but I think he's also intentionally avoiding the topic. I think he knows he won't be happy about the answer. Any word from Carew?"

"_Not since we got back...but Jenny's been getting calls nearly every day from various agencies demanding to know where McGee is."_

"She giving in yet?"

"_Not yet, but the pressure is getting heavier."_

"What's going to happen?"

"_Don't know. Since she doesn't actually know where McGee is, it'll probably be a while before the pressure is too high, but she does know who knows."_

"What do you want me to tell Tim?"

"_Your choice, but if he doesn't ask, there's no reason to bring it up."_

"Okay. Boss...Tim needs this. The shrink seems to know what he's doing, and he needs the chance to...to really get this stuff out and deal with it. We can't leave now that he's finally doing what we hoped he'd do."

"_We'll give you as much time as we can...probably at least a month with how slowly the cogs turn...but maybe not much more."_

"That won't be enough."

"_It may have to be."_

"Boss...as much as I hate to suggest it, maybe you should talk to Carew again...see if he has any ideas about how to avoid this should we need to."

"_Not yet. We'll wait until we see how things are going to go. Then, we'll worry about that."_

Tony almost cheered with relief. He hadn't wanted to put that possibility out there at all, let alone so that it could be agreed with. He'd hoped Gibbs _wouldn't_. The less they had to do with Carew and the CIA, the better.

"_Anything else?"_

"This place doesn't have much of a happening night life."

Gibbs chuckled. _"You'll have to deal with that. Staying there the whole time was your idea, not mine."_

Tony smiled. "Bye, Boss."

"_Bye, Tony. Be careful."_

"Absolutely."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Director Shephard, your refusal to aid in the search for Agent McGee is troubling...to say the least."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. This wasn't an official meeting. Not yet. Still, it _was_ being attended by the heads of the major federal law enforcement agencies. Jenny knew that the result of this meeting would eventually make it back to the President.

"Funny, I was about to say that your determination to ruin a man's life was troubling. Interesting how we see these things differently."

"He was taken from his home by terrorists. That doesn't speak much to your ability to protect him."

"And now, when it should be first on your priority list, you don't seem interested in finding him."

"Well, if all that he has to look forward to is being controlled by you, I'm not sure I want him to come back," Jenny said bluntly.

"You're comparing us to terrorists?"

"Yes, I think I am," Jenny said. "You certainly seem to have the ability to justify your own contradictions with all the wit of any run-of-the-mill terrorist."

"Now, Director Shephard, I think you're giving the terrorists too much credit," Director Carew said, a smile gracing his lips. He hadn't bothered speaking through most of this meeting, but Jenny got the sense that he was amused. "The creativity I've seen in the people in this room is well beyond anything I've found in your run-of-the-mill terrorist."

Death glares were dealt out indiscriminately.

"Why don't you be direct for once," Carew said, blithely, focusing his attention on the FBI director who had been the most vocal. "Say what it is that you really want...so that we can get on with our lives."

"Where is Agent McGee?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Jenny said. "If I did know, I'd not be likely to tell you, but I don't know where he is."

"You can't hide him from us forever."

"From you? I thought he was in danger from the terrorists," Jenny said mildly. She stood. "We are accomplishing nothing here. I don't know where Agent McGee is. Neither do you...and that situation is not likely to change...for as long as I can control it."

"That's good to know, Director Shephard. I'm sure the President will be interested in that as well."

Jenny smiled. "I'm _also_ sure he'll be very interested in the attempted contravention of his order."

She walked out of the room and headed for her car.

"Director Shephard."

She turned around.

"Director Carew."

"You're walking a fine line."

"Yes, I am."

"Are you sure it's worth it?"

"I didn't start this, Carew," she said.

"Neither did I."

"You used it."

"Yes, I did. Keep in mind that I'm on your side in this...whether you like it or not. A lot is riding on my good will. Maybe you should remember that before you antagonize the one person who might keep Agent McGee free and clear."

Carew walked away.

Jenny watched him leave, took a breath and got into her car.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva sighed as she looked at the two empty desks across from her. It had been a couple of months since Tim and Tony had been left in Idaho, and she had only indirect knowledge of what was going on with them. She knew that Tim was slowly healing, and Gibbs had told her that Tim was finally seeing a psychiatrist.

...but she missed them. She didn't like being separated from the people who had taken the place of her family. Perhaps that was why she had opened up her options enough to start dating someone she never had thought she'd even _consider_. It wasn't every day that she started dating a CIA agent...but he'd been nothing short of gentlemanly and she was slowly allowing herself to open up.

For now, however, she was waiting for Jenny to get back from the impromptu meeting. Every time there was any indication of some kind of threat to Tim's safety and security, she felt herself getting tense and worrying until she found out that the inevitable day when Tim had to confront things he couldn't tolerate had been put off for another while.

"Ziva, it's okay."

Ziva just shook her head, not looking at Gibbs as he came into the bullpen.

"No, it is not. This situation is not _okay_, Gibbs. It is far from it."

"Jenny knows what she's doing."

"But is it enough? I do not doubt that she will try her best, but there are so many people working against her."

"We won't know until we get to that point."

As if on cue, the elevator opened and Jenny walked out onto the balcony level. She paused and looked down at them. She nodded slightly and then walked on. Ziva sighed with relief. The day had been put off yet again.

"Ziva?"

"Yes, Gibbs?"

Gibbs smiled at her. "Go on a date."

"What?"

"Get out of here and go on a date. Relax. Stop thinking about this. There's nothing you or I can do about it right now."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Will you also stop thinking about it?"

Gibbs smiled. "You do it and I will."

Ziva smiled and pulled out her phone. While Gibbs watched, she dialed a number.

"Hello...Ray? Are you free tonight? Good."

Gibbs smiled and walked back to his desk. Ziva smiled back. Yes, life had to go on, even if she didn't think it was fair that it wasn't going on for Tim. Not really. Not yet.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Tim? What do you think? Am I going to work out still?" Dr. Hicks asked.

Tim's smile was shaky, but then, he'd revealed more of the dark parts of himself at this one session than he probably had almost ever. He nodded.

"Yeah...if you're not worried about what could happen to you."

"I'm not worried. Facing the things I've had to face over the years, it kind of inures you to that type of fear."

"Does it? When?" Tim asked.

Dr. Hicks smiled sympathetically. "When you've dealt with what you've had to face instead of burying it deep inside you."

He opened the door and headed for his car. As he drove down the winding road, he passed another car coming up. That must be Tony. He had made himself conspicuous by his absence, but in the last couple of days had shown up right near the end of the session.

Once Dr. Hicks reached the main road, he trusted himself enough to pull out his cell phone. He dialed a number few other people possessed.

"_Carew."_

"It's a good thing he's getting help now," Dr. Hicks said tersely. "I can't believe he was allowed to go for so long without any kind of therapy."

"_I told you that was the case."_

"Yes, but four years without any real help? That's ridiculous! These people should have realized that they couldn't let him decide this kind of thing for himself. He's not in a mental state to do so."

"_Hindsight..."_

Dr. Hicks took a calming breath. "Yes, I know. Regardless, he's trusting me for now. Hopefully, I can break him out of this cycle he's in before he realizes where my paycheck comes from."

"_Do you think he will?"_

"Eventually. For now, I'll do my best. It's hard breaking through habits that have been reinforced over the course of years."

"_I hope you'll get the time you need."_

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean that people are starting to push."_

"Push back."

"_Easier said than done."_

"I don't care. You push back against them. This can't be done in a few weeks. We need all the time we can get. If you want this man to be healed, you're going to have to be willing to cash in a few of your chips. You hold plenty."

"_You can never have enough in this game."_

"Then, what's more important?" Dr. Hicks asked bluntly. It was a genuine question. These things were nearly impossible to tell with Carew. "Agent McGee's mental health or your place in the game?"

"_Good question. I'll let you know. Speaking of which, I've let my watchers know that you spotted them. They're embarrassed. It won't happen again."_

"Good. It better not. I wasn't even looking; if Tim starts looking, he'd see something as blatant as that."

"_So noted. Anything else?"_

"No."

The soft click let Dr. Hicks know that the conversation was over. He was sure that he'd find out just how important Tim was within the next day. If Carew was willing to call in a few favors in order to get Tim more time to recover, then he was a lot more important than Dr. Hicks had thought he was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony came in with groceries and a couple of videos. When he saw Tim's tear-stained face, his eyes widened.

"What happened, McGee?" he asked. "What did Dr. Hicks do?"

To his surprise, Tim managed to laugh a little.

"He...just got me to...to talk about...some things. Things I don't like to talk about. I think it's helping."

"Good."

Tony suppressed the desire to ask Tim to confide in someone besides this near-stranger, but for now, he'd bite his tongue. He just wanted Tim to get better, and if this was helping, then that was great.


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

The door opened, and Carew smiled pleasantly at his newest visitor.

"I'm a busy man, Carew. Get to the point, especially the reason why we're in this little broom closet and why you couldn't just talk to me through regular channels."

Carew let his smile widen. "You should realize why I'm speaking to you here and not out in the open."

The man's expression hardened.

"Why?"

"Because I'm calling in a favor."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. You don't get to decide when the favors are redeemed. I'm calling in one now."

"What's that?"

"You're not going to push for Agent McGee's return."

"Excuse me?"

"I emphasized my words quite well. I doubt you need the repetition."

"Okay, then, why?"

"That is none of your concern."

"You get to tell me what to do but you don't have to explain?"

"Very good. You got it," Carew said. "There's no negotiation here. You will stop the search for him. You will stop trying to get the President to force Director Shephard to reveal his whereabouts."

"You know where he is."

"Why would you say that?" Carew asked.

"Because you don't seem to be worried."

"I'm never worried when Agent McGee is concerned."

The man stood up. "So that's it?"

"I'll be watching you," Carew said. "Don't push me. That was your mistake the first time."

"And you're squandering that hold just for this man?"

"You're putting all the spare men you can on the search. Just for this one man?"

He glared. Carew smiled as usual.

"You want him for the CIA."

"No, I don't."

An icy glare stared into the black-hole depths of Carew's eyes...and found that there was no staring him down.

"Well?" Carew challenged him. "Are you going to force my hand?"

"No." Then, the man turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

It had taken a couple of days, slightly longer than he'd planned, but things were now settled as he wanted them. Carew sat down and pulled out a phone.

"I've given you quite a bit of time. At least a few more months. Do your best because when this period ends, I don't know that I can stop it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two weeks later..._

"No! NO!"

Tony sat up in bed, shocked at the terrified shriek. Tim hadn't shouted in his sleep for more than a week.

"Stop! Please, don't!"

Without another thought, Tony jumped out of bed and hurried to Tim's room. Tim was sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide opening, nearly bugging out of his head. He screamed wordlessly but he barely moved.

Tony walked over to the bed and sat down. He had learned, fairly quickly, that waking Tim up from these things was hard to do...and he'd also learned that he could help more by taking his time rather than try to shake Tim out of it.

"Okay, Tim. Come on, buddy. Snap out of it." Tony put an easy arm around Tim's shoulders, ready to move away as soon as Tim woke up...just to make sure that he didn't feel uncomfortable...or get mad.

Tim didn't scream again, but he was still locked in that terror.

"Wake up, Tim. Just a dream. Just like before. Wake up."

Tim suddenly spasmed and gasped for breath.

"Tim? Are you awake?"

"Y-Yeah...I'm awake..."

"Good. You feeling okay?"

"No," Tim said and laughed weakly. "No, I'm not."

"That's all right."

"I need to...get out."

"Okay." Tony reached out to get Tim's wheelchair.

"No! Not the chair...just...out." Tim pushed himself to the edge of the bed.

"Whoa! McGee! You're not walking yet!" Tony said and tried to keep Tim down.

"No. Please, Tony. Just outside...without the chair."

Tony could see that Tim was probably not fully awake yet, but he could also see that Tim wasn't willing to be patient and wait. He'd struggle to get out there no matter what Tony said. So Tony sighed and helped Tim get up, putting a supporting arm around Tim's waist.

"Okay, Tim. We'll go out."

"Yes. Please. Now."

"Okay, okay! We're going."

Tim hung limply in Tony's grasp at first, but then, he actually put his feet on the floor. He winced at first, but he walked. Tony almost commented on it, but Tim's expression told him this wasn't the time to express amazement at the fact that Tim was walking, albeit painfully and with assistance. Tony was glad that they'd kept Tim on the ground floor. Trying to get him down the stairs would have been hard.

When they got to the door, Tim reached out and opened it, propelling them both forward as fast as he could. When they reached the railing, Tim pulled away from Tony and grabbed onto it. He sank to his knees and rested his head on the rail. He just breathed for a few seconds.

"Tim?"

"Felt like I couldn't breathe. Just needed...some fresh air."

"Why not use your chair?"

"It's like a prison...keeping me trapped. Can't run away...can't do anything but just sit there...let them come."

"Who?"

"Anyone. Anyone who wants to take over my life, keep me from living, keep me from...from being who I am." His breathing was slowing down now.

"You breathing okay now?"

Tim nodded.

"You ready to go back inside?"

"No. What is there waiting for me in that house? Just more of the same. Sitting around, hoping that I don't get found."

"Is that really what you're hoping for, Tim? ...because you didn't seem too interested in that before."

"Blame Dr. Hicks."

"Okay. I will."

Tim turned around and sat on the deck, leaning his head back against the railing. Tony sat down beside him.

"I don't know if it's better or worse that I want to try to get my life back again. I've been fighting this for too long, Tony. What's the point? I keep losing."

"Well, I'd say because it's better than giving up...but I'm not the one who has to deal with it."

"That's right. None of you can really understand this."

"Is that why you're willing to talk to Dr. Hicks and not me?"

"I don't know him. His job is to help me. I don't have to worry about seeing the awful look of realization that I've changed so much...that I'm not the person you want me to be...not the person _I_ want to be. ...and he's gone through some of what I have...and not because I was the cause of it, either."

"Tim..."

"Please, Tony. Don't pretend."

"You need to wake up, Tim. What those guys did to us was not your fault."

"_You_ need to wake up, Tony."

"Should I give you the childish retort?"

"No."

"Good. I don't think it would really help much anyway."

"No, it wouldn't."

There was a few seconds of silence.

"You know...you just walked, Tim."

"It hurt. A lot."

"But you walked. You're getting better."

"In time for all this to happen again?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't, but since you can't be optimistic, I will be."

Tim took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.

"The stars are really pretty tonight."

Tony followed his gaze.

"Yeah."

"The mountains are pretty, too."

"Yeah."

"Tony...this really just...sucks."

"The mountains?"

"No. All this. Every time David comes to do more therapy with me...I just feel tired thinking about how much I have to do. My feet still hurt."

"But not as much as before, right?"

"Not as much...but they still hurt."

"I don't want to sound mean, Tim, but suck it up, man."

"Suck it up? You try getting your feet beaten and then tell me that."

"What I mean, Tim, is that you need to stop focusing on all that and focus on getting better."

"Why? What's the point?"

"Hasn't Dr. Hicks talked to you about this stuff?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure I really believe him."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

Tony chuckled. "Because why?"

"Because I...I just don't want to, Tony. I don't want to believe that he's right and that it's worth fighting for. I don't want to deal with a life that could keep throwing me to the lions year after year until finally, they close in for the kill."

"Do you think that'll happen?"

"You keep acting like it matters what I think. It doesn't matter. If it did, I wouldn't be having these problems. What I think is irrelevant."

"No, Tim," Tony said firmly. "No, that is _not_ true. What _you_ think is the most important thing!"

"Then, why is it that no one cares what I want?"

"Because, Tim, I think _you're_ the one ignoring what you want."

"Oh, really? What do I want, then?"

"You want to be happy. You want to go back to how you were before. You want to...to walk again. You _don't_ want to have to give up. You're ignoring what you want for what you've decided you can have. ...but you're _wrong_, Tim! You keep telling us that we can't understand, but you don't give us the chance to understand! You'll talk to Dr. Hicks but not to us. ...and I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't talk to Dr. Hicks...at least he's been able to help you, but...we're your friends, Tim! We haven't given up on you, even when it would have been easier to do that. We want to help you."

Tim wiped a hand across his face and didn't speak.

"Come on, Tim. Talk to me! Do you know how boring it is sitting around here? Do you know how dead the night life is around here? Night life is watching out for mountain lions!"

Tim laughed a little...but still stayed silent.

"The most excitement I ever got was to meet a girl who prefers pounding a fence post with a hammer to living in a city."

"Who is she?"

"She gave me directions when I got lost."

"What was she like?"

"Average. Nice enough, but it took a while for her to notice that I was flirting. Different. Normal. It was kind of nice for things to be normal for a little while."

"What's that like?" Tim asked. "Normal? What's that like?"

"For anyone else? Boring. For me...lovely."

"Yeah. I want that. Normal...but the thing is, even if I walk again, even if I can go back to NCIS, my life still won't be normal. What I know, what I've done, what I can do...it's going to keep me from being normal, from _experiencing_ normal. All I ever wanted was a normal life. I wasn't ever really looking to be different. I knew what I wanted, and it _was_ different from what people expected of me...and I like being a bit different from the people I work with...but I didn't want to be...exceptional. I just wanted...to have the life I wanted. I wanted to get married, have kids, have a job I enjoyed. I can't have that anymore. I wouldn't ever want to drag someone else into this life I have. The job I have is continually interrupted by people who want to take over my life. My life is...screwed up...and it won't ever not be."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I make a suggestion? You don't have to listen to me."

"Good."

Tony smiled. "You know you can't have that life you wanted before...and I'd be lying if I thought you could get it...but maybe you should...try to...figure out a new normal for yourself...something that you can live with...maybe even enjoy sometimes...because if all you're doing is looking back and wishing for what you know you can't have...you're not going to be happy."

"I know."

"You said you wanted to be happy."

"What is my new normal going to look like, Tony?"

"I have no idea...but it's gotta be better than assuming you're going to be depressed forever."

"Is it more realistic?"

"Yes." Tony waited for a few seconds. "Did that sound convincing?"

Tim laughed. "Yeah. Very convincing. Guess I should go back to bed now."

"Yeah. I think so. Besides, I'm tired."

"Sorry."

"No worries. Stars are pretty this time of night...or morning...or...whatever."

Tony stood up and held out his hand to Tim. Tim took it with only minor hesitation, letting Tony pull him up and support him back into his room. Again, he walked a little bit, but clearly felt some pain with the effort required. After he was in his bed again, Tony started to leave.

"I still dream about them dying," Tim whispered into the darkness. "I don't want that to be normal anymore."

"Maybe that part doesn't have to be."

"That's what Dr. Hicks says."

"Maybe he's right."

"I just don't want the dreams. Remembering is bad enough. Reliving is worse."

"Maybe you could think some happy thoughts instead."

"Like what?"

"You said the stars are pretty."

There was a long pause.

"Yeah. They are."

"That's happy."

Another long silence.

"Good night, Probie."

"Good night, Tony."

Tony went back to bed, hoping that some good had come out of all this.


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

_Two months later..._

"_You're dating an agent from the CIA? You're kidding!"_ Tony said in disbelief.

Ziva smiled at Gibbs and answered. This was one of the rare moments when they felt they could talk on speaker phone. They were sitting out in Willard Park, alone and watching for people around them.

"Yes, it is true, Tony."

"_I can't believe you're letting her, Boss. You should both know better."_

"McGee?"

Tim was there, but saying very little, as was usual.

"_Yeah, Boss?"_

"Hit him."

Gibbs and Ziva smiled at the soft swat they heard.

"_Hey!"_

"_Obeying orders, Tony."_

Tony protested but not very loudly. It was too nice to have Tim showing any degree of lightheartedness to have Tony be very irritated. The last couple of months had been full of steps forward and back..literally as well as figuratively. Tim was starting to walk finally. He needed assistance, and there was still some pain in his feet, but David was optimistic about his progress. His sessions with Dr. Hicks had been doing wonders for his mental health. His many injuries were starting to heal to scars, and if he was still a bit withdrawn by Tony's report, he was much better off than he had been.

"We are not engaged, Tony," Ziva said.

"_Are you going to be? I mean...he's CIA! What's his name?"_

"His name is Ray, and I will not pretend that it did not worry me. I thought, at first, that he might be using me to find out more about McGee, but he has promised me that it is not his intention, and I believe him now."

"_So...how serious is it?"_ Tim asked.

"I am not...sure. We have had our ups and downs, things I am not sure I can accept. He is on an assignment right now, but he has already asked to have dinner with me when he gets back."

"_Well...if you guys get married, you've got to wait until we're back because there's no way I'll believe a Ziva wedding unless I see it for myself,"_ Tony said.

"I do not know if I am ready for that step, Tony."

"_What's been happening?"_ Tim asked, bringing the conversation to a more serious level.

"That is the strange thing. Nothing."

"_Nothing? What do you mean? You said that we maybe had a month or two before the pressure would get too high,"_ Tony said.

"The pressure's off. Has been for a while. It's like everyone stopped pushing."

"Maybe the President got involved."

"_Or...maybe Carew had something to do with it,"_ Tim said softly. _"He makes a lot of deals...you know."_

"Yes, he does. He hasn't said anything to us."

There was an awkward pause.

"_Uh...Dr. Hicks will be here soon."_

"We should probably not stay on much longer in any case," Ziva said.

Gibbs looked over at the sidewalk. A familiar figure stopped and waited.

"And Fornell has just showed up."

"_Fornell?"_ Tony asked, worriedly. They all knew that he was the one sent to deliver overt or covert threats.

"We'll find out," Gibbs said. "Talk to you guys later. Glad to hear you're getting better, McGee."

"_Thanks, Boss. Is...that jewelry box I started still in your basement?"_

"Yep."

"_Maybe I'll get to finish it sometime."_

"Maybe so. Your family's called a few times. They're worried."

"_What have you told them?"_

"That you're safe but they can't see you for a while."

"_Okay."_

Ziva looked at Gibbs a little sadly. Even now, Tim seemed to accept the separation with no real idea that there could be more.

"_Let us know what's up," _Tony said.

"Will do." Gibbs disconnected and he and Ziva walked over to where Fornell had been patiently waiting for them.

"What are you doing here, Agent Fornell?" Ziva asked bluntly.

Fornell grinned. "Believe it or not, I'm not here on assignment but by request."

"I don't believe it," Gibbs said.

"Believe it. In fact, you're welcome to join me in my meeting with your director."

"Meeting?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What's the meeting?" Gibbs asked.

"Come and see," Fornell said and headed inside. Having no other real option, Ziva and Gibbs followed.

Fornell was generally confident no matter what, but this wasn't bluster, they could see, as Cynthia passed them into the office without question.

"Director Shephard," Fornell said.

Jenny smiled. "Agent Fornell...I see you brought witnesses."

"Yep. Figured they might as well hear it now as later."

"Probably. What is it?"

"From what I can tell, you must have a friend with a lot of cards."

Jenny furrowed her brow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that, based on what I could ferret out, my director has been forced to stop his search...and I've _heard_ that most of the other agencies have stopped their searches as well."

"Only their open searches, right?" Gibbs asked.

"No. That's the interesting thing. Even in the FBI, the clandestine work has been stopped. We're no longer searching for Timothy McGee."

"For how long?"

"The two months that you've been noticing the difference."

"And how much longer?"

Fornell shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm not high enough on the totem pole. Can't even tell you who's turning the screws."

"Carew," Ziva said.

Gibbs and Jenny looked at her.

"It must be. Who else would have enough power to do this? ...and who else has consistently done so?"

"Yes, but why would Carew call in the number of favors it must have required to call off the search?" Jenny asked. "What's his incentive?"

"He has wanted McGee at his beck and call for years. He cannot if McGee is taken by one of the other agencies. He has been very clear about that."

"But what would make McGee that important?" Fornell asked. "I mean, sure, he's got skills, but I don't think that all the attention he's getting is warranted. ...or _is_ it?"

Ziva smiled bitterly. "McGee would say it is not."

"We've made him important, then?" Fornell asked.

"He knows more than he should," Gibbs said grudgingly. "He knows more, and he's done more than someone in his position should."

"That's not why Carew wants him, though, is it."

"Who knows _why_ Carew does what he does?" Jenny said. "I think his real ultimate goals are known only to him and no one else."

"Considering how little he's willing to play ball with other people, I'm surprised he made it so far up the ladder," Fornell said.

"Doesn't matter," Gibbs said. "If he's doing this, we need to know how long he's going to continue it. I don't care how he got his position. He has it. I care about McGee." He stared daggers at Fornell.

"Hey, I'm not here," Fornell said, raising his hands slightly. "I don't have an idea what you're talking about."

"Nor do I," Jenny said, "but I will have a chat with the director of the CIA as soon as I can get him to agree to meet up. You're right, Gibbs. This is something that needs...clarification. Thank you for your assistance, Fornell."

"I don't know why you wanted me to report instead of your little spies."

"Yes, you do," Jenny said with a smile.

Fornell just chuckled, gave a half salute and walked out of the office. As soon as the door was closed, Jenny looked at Gibbs and Ziva.

"Don't tell me where he is, but even if you think he's safe, you do what you can to verify it. I trust Fornell, but if his superiors know that, they might be using him to disseminate false information. It wouldn't be the first time that kind of thing had happened."

"And Carew?"

"I'll go to McLean myself if I have to," Jenny said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As it turned out, Jenny _did_ need to go to McLean. Carew's assistant called her later that day and asked if she would come. She agreed and called Cynthia for her driver. On her way out of her office, she was surprised to see Cynthia standing in front of her desk.

"Ma'am."

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"I'd like to come with you, if I could."

"Why?"

"I think I need to be there."

"You don't have to come," Jenny said. "You told me you wanted to leave all that behind."

"I do...but Agent McGee has shown that sometimes it's not possible to leave it behind."

Jenny nodded. "Very well. Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Director Shephard, I wasn't aware you were bringing your assistant," Carew said.

"You weren't? That's a surprise."

Carew smiled. The illusion of his omniscience was entertaining...especially when people who disliked him believed it. He wasn't personally acquainted with Cynthia. She hadn't worked for the CIA, but the quality of her work had been legendary. Special ops had lost a valuable resource when she'd got out of the racket.

"Always room for one more. Ms. Sumner, it's a pleasure to meet you officially."

Cynthia raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm being quite sincere. If you should ever decide to leave NCIS..."

"This is the last place I'll look, Director Carew."

Carew smiled. Her bitterness toward covert operations hadn't abated one iota.

"So, what brings you here?"

"You're the one who's pushed the other agencies away from the search for McGee," Jenny said. "Why?"

Carew smiled. He had always enjoyed their preference for direct confrontation.

"Because I have a vested interest in doing so."

"But why?" Jenny insisted. "Agent McGee has great skills, but he's hardly the only person in the world who has them."

"Agent McGee is a valuable commodity right now, and one that will lose its value rather drastically if he is taken against his will. He's stubborn, and he won't tolerate being forced to act. Beyond that, he knows quite a bit about the CIA, and the last thing I want is for what he has in his head available to anyone else."

Jenny looked at Cynthia and then back at Carew. He smiled.

"I am not lying, and I have not attached any strings to this intervention."

"Why not?"

"Because I need it as much as you...and you seemed to have learned the folly of making deals with me."

"How long is this going to last?" Cynthia asked.

Carew tested her slightly by shrugging.

"I know how people like you work, Carew," Cynthia said, her voice hardening. "You may not know the exact time, but you have an idea."

She still had it. Carew filed that away for future reference.

"It's worked for a couple of months. I can guarantee more than two or three more months before they'll resume their search...more covertly, trying to get around my surveillance. They won't succeed right away, but eventually, they will, and when that happens, your agent will either have to be ready to fight back or he'll have to be ready to run away. Those are the only two options."

"Surveillance?" Cynthia asked.

"Of course. As Agent McGee is fond of pointing out, there's always _someone_ watching. It's just a matter of who...and why."

"And in this case?" Jenny asked.

Carew smiled again. "In this case, it's me...for his protection. He doesn't want it, but he needs it. So we have covert surveillance for Agent McGee's protection and to keep him from worrying about it, we're keeping out of sight...out of mind."

"What if we tell him?"

"That would be your mistake...but it's yours make. Agent McGee won't appreciate it, and it won't be removed. So your decision." Carew looked at Cynthia. "You can't have forgotten how these things work, Ms. Sumner. The preference of the person being protected doesn't come into it at all."

"Who is out of the search?"

"Everyone I knew was in it. If someone has escaped my notice, my apologies. Was there anything else you needed, Director Shephard?"

"No. That covers it." She stood up and left, followed by Cynthia.

Carew sat back and considered. Cynthia Sumner had kept herself completely separated from covert ops, preferring her new career as an executive assistant. That she was addressing it even slightly told him that she was concerned about the situation and willing to involve herself in it. Tim might not appreciate it, but a lot of people were doing a lot for him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pushed the walker ahead of him, putting almost as much pressure on it as he was on his feet. David had given him some gentle exercises to work when he wasn't there. Right now, Tim was taking the long walk from his room to the deck. He spent a lot of time out there. It was such a lovely view, even now that the summer was turning into fall. The seasons seemed to change quickly in this part of the country. Nighttime temperatures were dropped below freezing with daytime temperatures still getting up near 80 degrees.

Dr. Hicks would be there soon, and Tony had made himself conspicuous by his absence. For the moment, Tim was absolutely alone. That was something he didn't get very often. He could sit here and not worry about people watching him, coming after him, thinking he was important.

Alone. It was really nice.

"Tim?"

Tim turned around.

"Hi, Dr. Hicks."

"I knocked but no one answered; so I just came in. Is that all right?"

"Yeah. Can we meet out here, today?"

"Of course. Pull up a chair. It's nice to see you on your feet, no matter how uncertain you might be."

Tim smiled a little. "I'm trying to think that it's a good thing, but it still hurts."

"Have a seat," Dr. Hicks said, gesturing at one of the deck chairs.

Tim hobbled over and sat down with a sigh of relief.

"You're doing better, Tim."

"Part of me thinks you're doing this just because."

"Doing what?"

"Telling me that I can still live and be happy."

"I'm telling you this because it's true."

"Tony told me once that I can be happy. I just have to start thinking of a...a new normal."

"He's right. You _can_ be happy, and it probably will take some degree of acceptance of your new situation."

"It's not totally new."

"No, it's not, but your facing it is new."

"You know what I miss most?"

"What?" Dr. Hicks asked.

"Being able to go through a day without being watched. I used to have that all the time and I never even thought about it. Now...these times when I have it again...I really wish that I could live without being watched."

"But from what you've said, that's not likely."

"No, it's not."

"Can you accept it?"

"I don't know. I don't feel like I have much choice."

"Well, if you could think of a genuine alternative..."

"I don't think there is one."

"Don't give up hope. It might come to you later. Don't force it."

Tim looked at the mountains.

"Part of me would like to stay here forever. It's so simple here. It's beautiful in a way that I wouldn't have thought it would be. It's not very green. It's just...solid."

"Firm and unchanging?"

"I know the mountains will be there in the morning."

"Do you think you really could stay here?"

Tim shook his head with a smile. "No. Even though I love the calm, I know I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's...not where I can be."

"Why not? You said that you can be here alone, no one watching, safe, unchanging. Why can't you?"

Tim looked at the mountains again. "Because...it's not who I am." He sighed. "I'm not that person...I can't sit unchanging forever. It's not what I do."

"You have to be involved in life."

"I wish I didn't."

Dr. Hicks chuckled. "We all want and _need_ to escape sometimes, Tim. There's no shame in that. You haven't been able to escape from your life. This is your escape and there's always a temptation to stay in your escape. ...but I'm really impressed that you're recognizing you can't."

"I want to be able to...not feel so much pain."

"Outside and in?"

"Yeah."

"We're working on that."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Let's talk some more about it."


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Over the next couple of months, Tim continued to improve. His walking was better. For the second time, he was slowly reacquiring the ability to walk. He'd started using a forearm cane as opposed to the walker, but his pace was still very slow, and he still felt pain. What had given Tony the most hope was seeing Tim's improvement in his attitude. He smiled more, even cracked jokes on occasion...and his nightmares had decreased dramatically. They hadn't disappeared, but it was nice that he seemed to be able to sleep without reliving his past so much.

The weather was getting dramatically colder, definitely different from the climate around DC. Trees were changing, but not like they did in the east. Mostly, the leaves just turned yellow and then fell to the ground. ...and there were the conifers that didn't change at all.

Dr. Hicks felt the change in the air that heralded the new season. He felt the ache in his feet as he always did in the fall and spring. Times of change. Maybe it was time for more than just a change in the weather.

He sat down at his desk and dialed a number.

"_Carew."_

"Good morning."

"_What's the reason for this particular call? Not that I don't appreciate the time."_

Dr. Hicks smiled. Carew actually sounded a bit under pressure...very odd for him.

"I'm going to tell Agent McGee who's signing my paycheck."

"_Why?"_

"Because this idyll isn't going to last forever and he needs to be prepared for an abrupt end. He needs to be able to confront this particular issue now rather than later when everything else will go wrong. ...and he needs to accept that the CIA isn't a bastion of evil and corruption."

"_It isn't?"_ Carew asked, amusement in his voice.

"No. It isn't. The CIA saved me...without thought in advance of my use. I was only a student at the time. And the CIA has saved him. People at the CIA, by Tim's own admission, have given their lives for him. If there are corrupt people within it, that does not mean the entire organization is wrong."

"_I hope you're not going to try and convince him that I'm a good guy."_

"Not until I can convince _you_ of that."

There was a short pause.

"_What do you think is going to be his response?"_

"About what you'd expect. He'll feel betrayed and accuse me of lying to him, manipulating him...and I will try to get him to calm down long enough to listen to me. This may be the end of our sessions, but I think it's a necessity at this point. He needs to know now."

"_And will you tell him about the house as well?"_

"Only if he asks. I'm giving him what I think he can handle. Nothing more, but nothing less either."

"_Good luck. Agent McGee is an extremely stubborn man. I doubt he'll trust you."_

"Well, that's because you've never given him the chance to trust you. He trusts me, and the things that made him trust me haven't changed. I'll need to remind him of that, but he'll know, deep down, that I'm being honest."

"_What a view you have of the world. Still rosy, even after all these years."_

"The world isn't evil by nature."

"_I'll try to remember that. I have a meeting with some rather unsavory characters today."_

Dr. Hicks chuckled and hung up. He was being deliberately optimistic because he felt that would improve his chances of succeeding where Carew would definitely fail. ...but he knew that, while Tim was definitely better than he had been, his fear of being used, of being watched, would foster an instant and visceral reaction to knowing that the person he'd trusted was working for the CIA.

...and controlling that reaction was the next necessary step in Tim's recovery.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...Tim, you ready?"

"For what?" Tim asked, his brow furrowing.

"To cook?"

"Are you sure you trust me to do that?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

Tim laughed a little. "Is this a test?"

"Only if you want it to be that way. You want to see if you can stand long enough to make a meal?"

"You're just tired of cooking."

Tony smiled. "What would you like me to get?"

"Uh...I don't know. Spaghetti?"

"Oh, come on! That's a total cop out, McGee!"

"Okay. Get some...sour cream, black beans, diced tomatoes, and some rotini."

"Interesting. What are you going to make?"

"Soup. There's a recipe my mom made a lot. It's really spicy."

"All right. Don't party without me."

"I doubt there will be any partying," Tim said.

"Well, enjoy."

"You going to look for your fence hitter?"

Tony laughed. "Maybe."

"Let me know."

"Will do," Tony said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim smiled and gestured for Tony to get out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony took his usual detour, and to his surprise, he saw his fence hitter, although she was alone and not hitting a fence this time. She was spreading out orange tarps...another incomprehensible task. He pulled over and got out.

"Hey, given up on beating up the fences?"

Jodi looked up, startled. She squinted at him in confusion for a few seconds, just long enough for Tony to worry that he'd made no impression at all. Then, her face cleared and she smiled.

"No plaid?" she asked.

"Nope. No plaid. What are you doing, today?"

"Laying out the dams so that they can dry before the snow flies."

"These are dams?"

"Yeah. For ditches. They get muddy and wet during the summer. Dad realized that he hadn't laid them out, and I can do it by myself. So I got sent up. How are things going on the hill?"

"Pretty good. You?"

Jodi shrugged. "About as exciting as yours seems to be. Did you get lost again?"

"No..." Tony shrugged awkwardly. "I was just seeing if you were around."

Jodi laughed. "Why?"

"I enjoy watching women beat up fences."

"See that a lot, do you?"

"Nope. You're the only one...but I enjoyed it."

Jodi cleared her throat and turned back to her task.

"Need any help?"

"You okay with getting dirty?"

"Oh, yeah."

She took a breath and pointed to a pile of orange tarp.

"Then, you can start spreading these out."

Tony knew he had lots of time before he had to be back at the house, and he liked giving Tim privacy. So he was more than willing to have some normal time...even if it wasn't his usual normal.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Hicks walked into the house, limping a little bit. His feet tended to cramp up. If Tim kicked him out, it would be a relief as far as his feet were concerned. Still, he did hope for a positive outcome today.

"Tim, how are you feeling?"

"Okay. Tony is making me cook tonight. A test to see if I can handle standing."

"Good luck."

Tim smiled. "Thanks. I think he's tired of being here. It's an escape for me...but it's not really for him."

"He doesn't mind."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Tim took a deep breath. "I walked up the stairs today. First time I've really been up there."

"And? Worth it?"

"Yeah. Nice view."

Dr. Hicks smiled.

"All right, Tim. We have something we to talk about today."

Tim's expression was only confused. Nothing else. No anticipation. That was pretty impressive, actually.

"What?"

"Have a seat. You're not going to like it."

"What?" Tim walked to the sofa and sat down.

"Did you ever consider how unlikely it would be that someone like myself would happen to be working in the very place that you came after leaving Saudi Arabia?"

Tim stared at him, unbelieving at first, but then, Dr. Hicks saw the instant leap he made and his instant distrust.

"You work for the CIA. Carew sent you here...to spy on me."

"Only two out of three, Tim. Not your usual standard."

"No jokes," Tim said. He got to his feet. "You've lied to me! This whole time!"

"No, I haven't," Dr. Hicks said calmly. "I haven't lied about anything. ...but I will grant you that I lied by omission."

"Don't act like this is something...that doesn't mean anything!" Tim said. "You've been lying the whole time! Just what I would have expected. Get out."

"No," Dr. Hicks said. "I'm sorry, Tim, but I'm not leaving yet. There's a reason I chose to tell you this and I'm not leaving until I explain."

"How many times did you tell Carew everything?"

"Never. Doctor-patient privilege doesn't vanish just because I work for Carew. I would never share what you've told me without your permission."

"This is all a lie," Tim said. "You probably even faked..."

"No," Dr. Hicks said again. "You remember the scars I showed you. Do you really think that I faked that? I'll take off my shoes again and let you handle my feet if it would make you feel better."

Tim's voice became laced with sarcasm, hiding his fear and anger. "So why are you here? To help me get better?"

"Yes. Yes, it was at Carew's request. He wouldn't trust you with anyone he didn't trust...and I happen to be his psychiatrist."

Tim's expression momentarily became one of curiosity.

"You're Carew's psychiatrist?"

"Yes."

"And you're here to..."

"Help you. Carew doesn't care what you say. All he cares about is that you're back to mental health."

"He could have just let me talk to someone..."

"No, he couldn't, and you _know_ he couldn't do that. He is bound by rules, and you know yourself that it's running a risk. You were worried about talking to me because you were afraid of putting me in danger. Are you going to maintain that there was no risk?"

Tim said nothing.

"Tim, the reason I told you this is because you need to let this paranoia and instant fear go."

"Yeah, right," Tim scoffed. "It's the CIA's fault I'm here in the first place."

"No, it's not. That's the point I'm making here. It's the point you yourself have made over and over in the last few months."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Tim asked, finally sitting down again.

That was a success, even if Tim didn't realize it. He was allowing Dr. Hicks to explain himself, rather than walking away.

"In everything you've told me, which agrees with what little I was told before, you have not laid the blame on the CIA. You've blamed the people who deserve it: your handler, the members of that group which was repudiated by the CIA, the terrorists who attempted to blow up Alexandria, the terrorists who abducted you. ...and you've blamed yourself far more than you should. You have not blamed Carew for anything but what he deserves blame for."

"And what is that?" Tim asked, sounding more bitter and tired than angry.

"For taking advantage of the situations you were in. He used them and he would admit it and not apologize for it, whether he should or not. ...but the CIA, for all your instinctive distrust, has not been the bad guy. There are bad eggs in the CIA, but there are bad eggs everywhere. You'll find that no matter where you look. There are also good people. The CIA saved my life. I was doing research in Bahrain and was in the wrong place at the wrong time...seen by the wrong people who had no interest in hearing that I wasn't a spy. I had no information to give, but I was saved anyway. When I recovered and finished my degree, I applied to join the CIA. They did not recruit me."

Tim said nothing, choosing instead to stare at the floor.

"Tim, you have been knocked around a _lot_, much more than you ever could deserve. You've let that cultivate a feeling of distrust, even paranoia about people's intentions. You've let a small group of people destroy your willingness to believe in others. ...and that's sad, Tim. It's no way to live, and you don't _have_ to. I am a member of the CIA. I have been a psychiatrist for them for years. In fact, I have been Carew's psychiatrist for years. And I have only tried to help you. I have not informed anyone about you, beyond to warn Carew that you needed more time than would be available had he not called in some favors. Like him or not, and you don't have to, Carew has saved your life more than once. ...and you don't have to trust _him_, but you need to let yourself trust other people again. You need to trust yourself and your own judgments again."

Tim was quiet, not looking up, not moving. Dr. Hicks waited. He wanted to let Tim respond. He was sure that he would, although he wasn't sure what the response would be. The seconds lengthened into minutes and then Tim sighed.

"I don't know how," he whispered.

Dr. Hicks waited again, knowing that Tim wasn't done.

"I don't know how to let myself trust anyone again. Too many people... I was too wrong."

"No, Tim...and you _have_ trusted people. You've put your trust in perfect strangers, again by your own account. People who risked a lot picking you up on the side of the road, people who first viewed you as a prisoner, a group who operates off the grid. You trust people, but not yourself and not the people around you, the people you know. Let the walls down, Tim. Let yourself risk it."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. I want you to think about this now. I have told you who I work for. In the past, you trusted me. Do you trust me now? Do you think I'm lying to you now?"

Tim shook his head.

"Do you trust me?"

"How can I?"

"By accepting the facts you know and letting me be who I am. Don't demand that I be something else just so that you can try to trust me. You know who and what I am. If you want to ask more questions about my life, feel free. I'll tell you." Dr. Hicks leaned forward and forced Tim to look at him. "...but _you_ need to accept your life as it is, and accept that you can trust people...and yourself."

Tim said nothing.

"Do you want me to leave? I will if you'd like me to. I have no reason to force you to accept my presence."

Tim took a shaky breath and let it out, his eyes filling with tears he didn't want to shed. Dr. Hicks took a chance. He got up, limped over to where Tim was sitting, and sat down beside him. Then, taking an even bigger chance he put a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Fight against this feeling, Tim. Don't accept that you have to be isolated in order to be safe. It's not true. Don't accept that you have to be alone in order to keep others safe. That's also untrue. You've been allowed to develop this feeling inside yourself, but now you have to fight it. Let it go."

"I don't know how," Tim said, almost crying but not quite.

"Will you let me help you...for as long as it's possible?"

Tim closed his eyes, dislodging a couple of tears and he nodded slowly.

"Okay. That's the first step...trusting someone you don't want to be able to trust."

"Then, what comes next?" Tim asked.

"Accepting that you _can_ trust without being betrayed. You ready to work on that?"

"Okay," Tim whispered.

"Good. We'll ease you into it...now that I've already thrown you into the deep end once."

...and in a moment that gave Dr. Hicks more hope than ever, Tim managed to laugh.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was longer than he'd planned in getting back to the house. Jodi had let him help her and then they'd talked, a bit awkwardly, for a few minutes more. Then, he'd gone shopping. By the time he got back, the sun was on its way toward the western horizon, and Dr. Hicks was long gone.

He walked into the house and looked around to see where Tim might be. He was out on the deck...standing...well, _leaning_ against the railing. Tony set his purchases on the counter and walked out.

"Hey, Tim. Sorry, I took so long," he said...and then paused. There was a different feeling in the air right now than he'd expected.

"I'm sorry I haven't trusted you, Tony," Tim said quietly.

Tony looked at Tim. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't trusted anyone. Not sure I can yet, but I'm working on it. ...and I'm sorry that I haven't been able to trust you."

"Is this from talking with Dr. Hicks?"

"Yeah. He works for the CIA."

"What?"

Tim surprised him by laughing a little. "Yeah. Carew sent him because he knew I needed the help and he figured I try to get it."

"...man, I'm sorry. I thought he was a good one."

"He is," Tim said, although with a tone that said he was trying to convince himself. "He is a good person and a good doctor. I don't want to trust him, but I'm trying to. He's helped me a lot...and he's the one who told me who he worked for."

"And you're accepting it?"

"Yes...for as long as I can."

"You sure about that?"

"No, but I'm trying to be." Tim straightened and turned around. "I may not be able to have the life I wanted before...but there's a lot I _can_ have if I can...stop being so afraid of...of people's true intentions. If I can trust him, I can go pretty far."

"What about Carew?"

"I don't have to trust him. He's not here," Tim said. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard...and then smiled weakly. "Did you remember everything?"

Tony smiled back. "I did. You remember the recipe?"

"Like the back of my head."

Tony didn't catch the joke for a moment, but then he laughed.

"Great! I'm excited for dinner."

They walked into the house together and Tony let himself get serious for a moment more.

"You all right, Tim?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

"For now? I take that, Probie," Tony said. "Now, get cooking."

"Yes, sir."

Tim hobbled into the kitchen and got dinner started. ...and Tony helped him when his energy flagged and his feet started to ache.


	35. Chapter 34

**A/N:** This is the chapter wherein there is a brief period of synchronization between the TV series and my series, specifically _A Desperate Man_ from season 9. It involves Ray Cruz, and should you be interested, it would be worth giving a quick read to my oneshot tag _Lost_ in order to see how Ray is going to fit in the next part of this series. Even if you don't like Ray at all, it will be useful to know both sides of the second scene in this chapter and the tag is short.

...and now back to the story. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34<strong>

Things continued more or less the same over the next week, with one exception. Tony stopped leaving during Tim's sessions. He made himself scarce, but he was in the house. Tim had asked Tony not to tell the others in DC what Dr. Hicks had said, and he had agreed for the moment. Dr. Hicks had offered himself up for interrogation if Tony would feel better about it. Tony had passed on that, but he clearly was uncertain about Dr. Hicks now that he knew about his connection to the CIA. Tim was struggling with his well-developed fear and paranoia, but he was also ready to have that fight which he hadn't been before.

Two weeks after his revelation, Dr. Hicks came to the house for Tim's session, and Tim was feeling...introspective, but that wasn't the right word for how he felt, for what he was thinking about. He was back out on the deck, but it was pretty chilly today and he was wearing a jacket.

"Tim?" Tony asked.

"Yeah?"

"Dr. Hicks is here."

"Good."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure about this? Do you want to do this?"

"Yeah. Just like I've said every day for the last two weeks."

Tim heard Tony laugh a little.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Thinking about something that doesn't change...the mountains."

"You want Hicks to come out here?"

"No. It's too cold. I'll come in." Tim grabbed his cane and came inside.

Dr. Hicks was waiting for him, but he was sitting, not standing as usual. He noticed Tim's look.

"My feet hurt during the seasonal changes, and they're a bit more extreme in this part of the country."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Dr. Hicks smiled and shook his head.

"Don't go there, Tim. Remember what I told you? You can't take the blame for everything."

Tim smiled a little.

"Where are we going today?"

Tim looked at Tony...who stretched and cracked his neck a couple of times...and grinned.

"I think I'll go down and swim in the endless pool. I'm getting lazy. You need anything, shout out and I'll hear you."

"Will do," Tim said. "Don't drown...neither of us move very fast."

Tony chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Tim watched him go and then looked at Dr. Hicks and let out a whoosh of air.

"What is it, Tim?"

"I had some...questions, but I don't know if you can answer them."

"Ask and I'll let you know. I don't have many secrets."

"Not about you."

"Then, what's your question?"

"It's...about Carew."

Dr. Hicks smiled. "Doctor-patient privilege applies to the director of the CIA, just as much as it does to you, Tim."

"I know...and while I'm curious, I don't want to try and...make you do something you can't do. I just..."

"Go ahead and ask, Tim," Dr. Hicks said. "You'll never know if you don't ask. I'll let you know if I can't answer."

"Did you...know him before?"

"Before what?"

"Before you were in the CIA?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because...he told me once that he couldn't rely on records...but he trusts you enough to have you as his psychiatrist. That means there's...something else."

Dr. Hicks nodded. "Yes, I did know him. Sort of. We weren't really on speaking terms at the time. ...of course, I wasn't in much of a state to do much talking either."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Director Carew was on the team that saved me, Tim. He wasn't the director at the time, of course. The first time I saw him was when he pulled me off that horrible table and took me out of my prison into the world again. He wasn't the only person on the team, but he was the one I saw. He was the one I remembered when I was going through months of therapy, both physical and mental." Dr. Hicks laughed. "He was my personal savior."

"And...I'm assuming you know a lot of the things he does."

"Of course."

"Do you see him in the same way?"

"Of course, I don't," Dr. Hicks said. "If you're thinking I have some kind of hero worship of him, you're very much mistaken, Tim. ...but I'm probably about the only person who hasn't been thrown off by his intentional isolating tendencies. People don't like him, and he likes it that way."

"Why?"

"Ah, that I can't tell you...for one thing, I don't know for sure, but for another, most of what I surmised comes from what he's told me in his sessions with me."

"I understand."

"Tim, why are you asking?"

"You said that Carew isn't the bad guy, but..."

"It's hard to accept that?"

"He's saved my life more than once, but he's used me, too...and he still _will_ be using me sometime in the future. I don't know how to reconcile that."

"I wish I could help you there, but I can tell you that Carew is an honest man. I have not known him to tell a lie, and in fact, he's well-known for it. Now, this is something from his files, but I understand that you've seen some of those?"

"Yes."

"No one thought his policy of honesty would work in the CIA. In fact, most people, from what I've gathered, thought he'd be killed in his first assignment, but they failed to take into account how quickly his mind works. Carew is very intelligent, and he has learned how to take the time to analyze, but to do it in seconds. He decides how to present information without lying but without telling the whole truth."

"Why is that important to him?"

"I don't know, but it is...and I can also tell you that, as long as he's in the position he is, no one will know everything about him. He has pulled himself away from everyone."

Tim looked out the window at the mountains.

"Tim, there's a reason you're asking me about him, and it's not simple."

"No, it's not."

"What is it, Tim?"

"He told me that I didn't have to be like him."

Dr. Hicks actually seemed interested. "When?"

"I was going to kill my handler. I wanted to...and my mind snapped. I couldn't deal with what was going on. Carew stopped me. I didn't thank him at the time, but...I'm glad that he did now. I was sitting on the ground, my mind in ruins, and I can still hear his voice. He said that I didn't have to be like him. ...and I don't want to be."

"You don't _have_ to be."

"...but this world that I'm in...this life that I have. It's more like his life than my life was before."

"That doesn't mean you have to adapt in the same way. You're not the same person he is. Your life before was different than his, and it's different now."

"I don't..." Tim sighed. "You've told me that I can trust people, that I can trust myself, but I don't know how to adapt! I don't know how to change."

"You've already changed, Tim. What you need to do is learn to _control_ that change instead of letting life control you."

"How do I do that?"

"Practice...and self-awareness. You need to see how you've changed and decide which parts of those changes you want to keep and which parts you want to change again. It's not easy. It's not quick, but you can do it. I'll try to help you, to give you the tools you need...but you know that you won't be able to stay around here forever."

"I know. Sooner or later, someone is going to find out where I am."

"Yes, and _you_ can decide how that happens. You can control what happens to a certain extent. While their behavior is reprehensible, remember that the people in this country aren't interested in attacking you physically. That gives you a lot of leeway to act. ...and it's your choice of what you do."

"I don't like how afraid I am all the time," Tim said. "I don't like how I feel about...about...myself most of the time."

"What _do_ you like?"

"I don't know."

Dr. Hicks leaned forward. "You need to find something you like about yourself, Tim. My job isn't to help with your self esteem, _but_ it's important that you accept yourself. You don't have to want to keep yourself exactly the same, but you _do_ need to like yourself. That's kind of important."

"How long do I have here?"

"I don't know," Dr. Hicks said, honestly. "I haven't spoken to Director Carew in a while. He isn't sure how much time he can give. At some point, they're going to try to get control of you again. You'll have to be ready for it...but don't let it destroy you. It doesn't have to. What I went through changed me. Drastically. It changed the course of my life. It changed my outlook on life, and it changed what I thought was important. It changed _me_, but I've accepted those changes and I like the person I've become. The changes initially were forced on me. You don't go through imprisonment and torture without getting changed. I let that take over for a while...but I mastered the changes and I used how I'd changed to direct my life. You have to do the same thing. You have to figure out how those changes are going to be incorporated into your life. Some people can't do it."

"In the CIA?"

"Everywhere...but yes, in the CIA, too. Maybe even especially in the CIA. There's something about having to do the things they have to do sometimes that makes it hard for them. Sometimes...people change and they don't like what they see in the mirror anymore...and they lose sight of what else there can be."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three weeks later..._

Ziva was sitting silently at her desk as she had been for the last week. People often broke up with significant others...but never had she experienced anything like this. Perhaps it was because of the fact that her boyfriend was a CIA agent...her _ex_-boyfriend. She hadn't seen Ray since she'd found out what he'd done, but that didn't mean that she wasn't thinking about him. Abby had been up to see her multiple times, just to make sure she was okay. Ducky had invited her to tea with him. It was nice of him.

...but all Ziva could think about was how betrayed she felt, and she couldn't forget the look in Ray's eyes. Unlike Ari, who had lost all trace of human compassion, emotion...Ray had been almost blank, but in a way that denoted something more. Something he was refusing to share with her. Even to the end, he had held her back, held her away from him. It seemed unfair.

Ziva sighed and looked at Gibbs who was also silent...but was there.

"I wish Tony and Tim were back here," she said quietly, looking at the empty desks. "Tony would find some way to lighten things up. Tim would try to be supportive. I miss them. Both of them...much more than I thought I would. I do not like this change. I do not like how things are."

"They can get better," Gibbs said.

"Perhaps, but will they?"

"Don't know that."

"I should not have got involved with the CIA, not in any way. Nothing good comes of it...not even when it is just a person who works there."

"You couldn't have known," Gibbs said.

"No, but I could have avoided this...by not allowing myself to be sucked in. Ray seemed like a nice person. He seemed like a good man. ...but in the end...he was just..."

"He did love you," Gibbs said.

Ziva shook her head and looked at the empty desks again. "Gibbs...I would like to go and see them. I will be careful, but I need time away, and I would like to see them."

Gibbs looked at her for a few seconds and then nodded silently.

"Be careful," he said.

"I will."

"Ziva?"

"He is a murderer, Gibbs," Ziva said. "I cannot accept that. I cannot accept what he has done."

Ziva got up to leave and then looked over at ZNN...and she stopped. She grew pale and her eyes widened. Slowly, she walked to the TV and turned up the volume.

"_...and officials have identified the body as that of Ray Cruz, a local businessman. So far, there is no sign of foul play."_

The picture was of Ray.

"No," Ziva said. "No, this is not right. ...he is not a businessman."

"_One source at Metro is saying that the cause of death appears to be suicide, but until the coroner completes the autopsy..."_

"Suicide?" she whispered. "He is dead?"

Gibbs didn't say anything, but he walked over and put his hand on Ziva's shoulder. She turned to him, her eyes filling with tears. Anger and hurt, even disgust, didn't change the fact that she had loved him. Ziva hugged him for just a moment.

"It's all right," Gibbs said.

"Not yet, but maybe it will be," Ziva said softly. "What do I do about this, Gibbs?"

"What you said. Go visit them. Just be careful."

"Yes, Gibbs. ...would you like to come, too?"

Gibbs smiled. "Go."

Ziva started to walk to the elevator but then she stopped and turned around.

"I wish he _had_ just been a businessman like they said he was. This would not have happened."

Gibbs just nodded and watched her leave. After the doors closed, he sat down and looked at the TV screen again. The news had moved on. A dead man, no matter how surprising his discovery, didn't mean as much if he'd committed suicide. Sounded like how the CIA would work. Had they killed him or had he _really_ killed himself? Gibbs sighed. Every link they forged with the CIA seemed to be tainted in some way. They barely had a chance to make something positive out of it before it was screwed up somehow.

For the first time, he wondered what Carew had been like before _he_ had joined the CIA.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

A car pulled up in the driveway. Tim looked up.

"Are you expecting someone, Tony?"

Tony shook his head.

"Nope. Not me. You're the one with the regular visitors."

"Then, who's outside? I'm not expecting Dr. Hicks for six hours. David isn't coming today."

Tony looked at Tim...and then hurried to grab his gun.

"Stay back, McGee," Tony said.

Tim got to his feet.

"Stay back!" Tony ordered. He walked to the door, gun drawn.

"Tony! Tim!"

Tony yanked open the door.

"Ziva?"

Ziva was standing on the doorstep, looking a bit worn, but smiling. Tim hobbled over.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I am glad you are walking, Tim," Ziva said.

"What's going on, Ziva?" Tony asked.

"I am...here to visit...if you will have me."

Tony grinned and lowered his gun.

"Sure! The more, the merrier!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Tim and I will kill each other if we're here alone for much longer."

Tim smiled. They'd actually reached a pretty good state where they'd learned how to deal with each other's quirks, but they both missed their friends and seeing Ziva was nice. ...but she didn't seem especially happy.

"Are you all right?" Tim asked.

Ziva smiled, but it was a tight smile. "I will be, eventually. I am better seeing you doing so well."

"Well...come on in!" Tony said, rallying as he always did. "You can give us the gossip we can't get on the phone and tell us what's going on."

"I will do that...but first, may I hug you both? I have missed you."

Tony put out his arms dramatically. Ziva laughed and hugged him tightly. Then, she moved to Tim and hugged him as well, but more gently.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I have missed you."


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

_One week later..._

Ziva told Tony and Tim what had happened and about her own conflicted feelings about Ray's death. She was careful in explaining her feelings. Her trip to Idaho had given her some time to think about things and she realized that the events that had led to her rejection of Ray could be taken as a reflection of Tim's own actions in the past. So when she had talked to Tony and Tim, she had actually glossed over what she and Ray had talked about and focused on how she felt about what had happened to Ray.

Both Tony and Tim had been comforting in their own ways...and both had been willing to let Ziva use her mad cooking skills. Ziva had met Dr. Hicks and David Morgan. She noticed Tony's reticence about leaving Tim alone, but she didn't think about it much because there was just so much else that she had to think and worry about.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva answered the door when Dr. Hicks came by for Tim's session.

"Good afternoon," she said with a smile.

"Hello, Ziva. Tim's ready?"

"Yes. He is waiting for you in the study."

"Excellent." He started on his way.

"Dr. Hicks?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to thank you for what you have done for Tim. He is...much improved from when I saw him last."

Dr. Hicks smiled. "He just needed the help and I'm the one who was here."

"But I am grateful."

"My pleasure."

Dr. Hicks headed into the study. Ziva walked back to the kitchen where Tony was leaning over an open cookbook. It was his turn to cook...and he wanted to prove that he could cook as well as Ziva...or at least make a good meal.

"What are you going to make?" Ziva asked.

"It's a surprise. How you feeling today?"

Ziva smiled. "It is becoming more...real to me. Even though I hated what he had done, I...I cannot help but regret that...that he felt he had to die."

"Maybe."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe he didn't kill himself. He was CIA after all. Maybe they killed him off."

Ziva sighed. "That does not make me feel any better."

Tony looked up and put his hand out. "Sorry."

Ziva sat down on a stool and leaned on the counter, reaching out to touch his hand briefly before leaning back.

"No. What you say may be true. I would not put anything past the CIA."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, it was a real shock to me when Tim told me that Dr. Hicks works for them."

"What?" Ziva asked, rising to her feet.

Tony looked up awkwardly. "Oh...right...yeah. Uh...I guess we didn't ever tell you. Dr. Hicks works for the CIA. He got sent here by Carew."

"Why?"

"Because Carew figured that Tim would want to get the help he knew he needed. He planted Dr. Hicks in Jackson Hole...probably almost as soon as we got here. Guy is way too smart for his own good...or maybe for our good."

Ziva looked at Tony and then back toward the study.

"If so...why are you so calm about him being here?"

"Because Tim is...and you've noticed how much better he is. It's because of Dr. Hicks. CIA or not, Dr. Hicks is really good at what he does."

"How did you find out?"

"We didn't. He told Tim."

"He _told_ Tim? Himself? Without needing to?"

"Yeah. Tim had no idea. Said it was a shock to him when he found out. He felt betrayed again. I wasn't here when they were talking, but whatever they talked about made Tim feel okay about it...and so he's going to keep coming as long as Tim is here. However long that is."

"What do they talk about?"

"I have no idea. Tim doesn't usually tell me very much. He still doesn't like the idea of letting us know the details. Dr. Hicks...he's part of all that, and Tim said that he doesn't mind letting him know because he's basically a stranger. ...but I wish he'd let me in, just a little bit. He doesn't have to tell me everything, but, you know, we've been with him all the way, and..."

"...and you think it would help?" Ziva asked.

"Don't you?"

Ziva shrugged. "If he does not think it will help, then, it would not help _him_. ...but, as you say, he is doing better, maybe if both of us ask him, he will tell us."

"Yeah, I was thinking that myself."

"Why did you not say anything?"

Tony smiled. "Well, you were having your own problems. I didn't want to make everything about Tim. ...something he said to me once, and he's right. It can't all be about him, and he doesn't _want_ it to be, either. So I figured it would be better if you had extra time to deal with all that stuff with Ray. Didn't want to push."

"Well, I am ready to try, if you are."

Tony sighed. "We've probably got a while. Tim hasn't said anything about going back to DC."

"How much longer do you think he will stay?"

Tony sighed. "I don't know. He's getting better. He's walking. He hasn't had a nightmare in days. ...but he doesn't seem to want to go...and he still feels some pain in his feet."

"You wish you could leave," Ziva said.

"Kinda. This isn't exactly a happening place, and I'm mostly just marking time. I'm not like Tim who's hiding from people. ...but don't tell him that. I don't want him feeling guilty about it...and there's no way I'm leaving him here alone."

"This has been good for you as well as for Tim."

Tony smiled a little. "Maybe I needed the time off. Haven't had a vacation in a while."

"It is not just that. You are not...awkward with each other as you have been for the last year. Things are better for you _and_ for Tim."

"Yeah, maybe." He looked out the window for a second.

"I could stay here instead," Ziva suggested.

"Nah. I'll stick it out to the end. I have to."

Ziva got up and walked around the counter. She leaned in and kissed Tony on the cheek.

"You are very sweet."

"You're ruining my reputation, Ziva," Tony said and smiled.

"I am sorry. I will not spread it around."

"Good. Now, I need to get started if I'm going to wow you all with my cooking prowess."

Ziva raised her hands in capitulation.

"I will go and swim a few laps."

Tony waved her away and got back to staring at the recipe he'd chosen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked into Abby's lab and grimaced. The music was low and Abby was still working efficiently with no bounce in her step.

"Abby?"

"I'm getting some tests done for Lovitz, Gibbs," Abby said dully. "I don't have anything from you."

Gibbs walked over and turned her around. That was all it took. Abby hugged Gibbs tightly.

"They'll come back, Abbs."

"But when? I haven't seen Tim in months! Months! Tony is with him. Ziva is there now, too, but I haven't been able to see Tim at all! I've been here, and I know that I have to stay here so that no one notices, but still!"

"I know."

"I just want them all to come back and be safe! ...but will Tim be safe if he _does_ come back? Will he be able to come back here at all? What if those jerks at the other agencies decide they want to take him again? Gibbs, I don't know what's going to happen!"

"I don't either, Abbs, but things will work out."

"I wish we could go back in time and stop all this from ever happening!"

"Yeah, me, too." _Especially since I started it._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was starting to cook dinner when Tim finished his session with Dr. Hicks. He didn't join the conversation they were having as they walked out. Tim was still hobbling, but he was definitely doing better. Tony watched Tim. He was more relaxed now and less withdrawn. That wasn't to say that there wasn't still a shadow in his eyes, but Tony wasn't sure that would ever go away.

...but he wished that Tim would allow his friends to give him some support. Hopefully, with Ziva's help, he could persuade Tim to open up.

"See you tomorrow?" Tim asked.

"Provided you're still here," Dr. Hicks said.

Tim nodded, waved Dr. Hicks out the door and then turned to Tony.

"What are you making?"

"The secret DiNozzo penne pasta."

Tim smiled. "I thought you said that pasta was a cop out."

"I said _spaghetti_ was a cop out. And it is."

Tim chuckled. "I'm going out to the deck. Where's Ziva?"

"Showing me up in the endless pool."

Tim nodded and put on his jacket. Then, he limped out to the deck and sat down on one of the chairs. There was a definite bite in the evening air now. It really didn't take long to change to fall. Tim wouldn't be able to stay out as long, but Tony decided it would be best to wait until after dinner, rather than force Tim into a mindset he didn't want before they ate.

Ziva came up a few minutes later, hair damp and curly, and silently started helping Tony with his cooking. Mostly she got dishes out, letting him do the actual cooking. Then, she went out and joined Tim on the deck. From what Tony could tell, neither of them were doing any talking. Ziva was just sitting beside him. ...but that was the difference between Ziva and himself. Tony didn't like silence when he knew that there were things that needed saying. He might not actually say what was needed, but he would talk.

Tim and Ziva came in to eat when Tony called them. They sat together at the table and ate. It nearly killed Tony not to say anything, but he took his cue from Ziva who seemed intent on waiting.

Ziva and Tony cleaned up dinner and Ziva gave Tony a look as she put the last dish into the dishwasher. He nodded and they walked to the deck, where Tim had again retreated. He was looking at the mountains as the sun went down...as he often did.

"Tim?" Ziva asked. "May we join you?"

Tim looked back. "You'll want a jacket," he said with a smile. "It's kind of chilly."

"I'm prepared," Tony said. "But Ziva will need to get a jacket."

Ziva grinned and dashed back inside. Tony settled on a chair.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"All right."

Ziva came out with a heavy jacket and sat down.

"Dinner was good, Tony. I'm impressed," Tim said.

"Thanks. Tim...what do you and Dr. Hicks talk about?"

"The stuff that's happened," Tim said. "Nothing that you guys don't already know."

"But there _is_ something we do not know," Ziva said. "We do not know what you think of it. How you feel."

"You can't know that," Tim said. "I couldn't explain it. You aren't...you haven't experienced it. You can't understand."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Tony asked. "Why do you think that we _have_ to experience that in order to be let in on it."

"That is not why you are keeping it from us," Ziva said.

"Yeah, it is," Tim said softly.

The lights from the house were dim, giving only a bit of light. There were no lights on the deck, and the sun had vanished beneath the horizon. They couldn't see each other's faces very well. ...all the better perhaps.

"No, Tim. It is not. It is the excuse you are hiding behind. Why will you not tell us?"

"I don't want you to...know..."

"Why not? You said that we already knew a lot of it. Why won't you tell us about the rest...the important part?"

"Because I don't want you to know that part! I don't want that for you!"

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

Tim looked up. Tony followed his gaze and could see a few stars.

"Do you remember that box I made? The one with the skewed and twisted sides?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I am...what I am most of the time. I don't want you to be like that. Every time I...get involved with the CIA, I come away a bit more twisted. Dr. Hicks told me that there are good and bad people everywhere, and he's right...but...but I don't want you guys to pay that price."

"We've seen a lot, you know," Tony said. "It's not like we've been living in a bubble, Tim."

"I know, but not like this. I know you think that it's nothing you've not seen before, but you're wrong. It's different, and it's because of...of how things are. You said that there's only one world, Tony, and you're right. There's only one world, but there are aspects of that world that I wish I'd never seen. There are parts of the world, and people in it, that I don't want to inflict on anyone else. The CIA...it can...twist people. It's twisted me, warped me. It warped Carew. I don't know how Dr. Hicks managed to avoid it...unless it's just because he was already warped by being a prisoner for a year." Tim looked at Tony and Ziva. "I don't want to see you guys get twisted and warped like I have been. You don't _have_ to be. I didn't have a choice, and if I could have chosen, I would have avoided it. I really..._really_ wish I could have."

"You do not have to protect us, McGee," Ziva said.

"Maybe not, but I want to...and I can, even just a little. I can by not letting you get inside the part of the world that I've been thrown into more than once."

Tim stood up and limped the edge of the deck.

Tony got up, too.

"Tim, come on, man! That's not..."

Tim suddenly stiffened and held up his hand.

"Tony...look."

Tony followed his gaze. A small light off on the other side of the hill.

"What is that?" he asked.

Ziva stood up.

"Unwelcome visitors," she whispered. "Perhaps they were able to follow me."

"Doesn't matter," Tony said. "Inside."

Tim followed, but he paused at the door.

"Tim, come on!"

Tim looked at Tony and Tony saw a strange expression cross his face. It wasn't one he'd ever seen before. It changed Tim's entire countenance. He took a breath and shook his head.

"No."

"What do you mean, no? This is what we've been dreading."

"I know. ...but I'm tired of letting them come to me. I'm tired of letting them call the shots. _I'm_ calling the shots this time."

Tim turned and walked to the stairs and limped down them.

"Tim, wait!"


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Tony and Ziva easily caught up with Tim, and while they could have easily held him back, something about the expression on his face kept them from trying.

"Tim, you don't know who it could be out there," Tony said. "This is crazy!"

"I know who it_ could_ be," Tim said. "I don't know who it _is_, but I'm not letting this happen again. I keep getting taken by surprise. I keep letting other people dictate what happens. That's not happening this time."

"What will you do?" Ziva asked.

Tim's energy was already flagging and he was stumbling over the rough ground, but he was giving off such an independent vibe that neither Tony nor Ziva had seen in him for ages. They had no chance of stopping him...or even giving him physical assistance. For the first time, he was walking alone and he wasn't stopping.

Tim tripped over a large clump and cursed as he fell to the ground...but he got to his feet again and kept on his way. Slowly, but surely.

The small light vanished, and Tim stopped walking.

"I saw you!" he shouted. "I saw you and I'm right here! Do me the courtesy of showing yourselves!"

He didn't look at Tony or Ziva. He just stared into the darkness, waiting for an answer.

"What is it, this time?" Tim shouted. "More terrorists? Cowards who hide in the darkness? Supposed patriots who have no respect for the law? Who?"

Tony looked at Ziva who shook her head. They had no idea who would come to them...if anyone would at all. Tim didn't move. He just waited.

After a minute, five figures came out of the darkness. None of their features could be discerned, only their shapes.

"Who are you?" Tim demanded.

"We're not terrorists."

The voice had no accent.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "I'm not kidding."

Tony and Ziva were hanging back a little, ready to get involved if needed, but willing to let Tim have his say.

"FBI."

Tim laughed cynically. "Figures. What are you doing? Or what is it that you _think_ you're doing?"

"Taking you into protective custody."

Tim laughed outright. "I don't think so," he said.

"We were told it's in your best interest."

"Well, whoever told you that is wrong. It is _not_ in my best interest. It's in your employer's best interest...or they _think_ it is."

"Are you going to resist?"

"Yes," Tim said simply. "Yes, I am. You're not listening to me. It is not in my best interest to be forcibly taken from a place of sanctuary and removed from my life. Do you have any idea what I have been doing with my time? I've been trying to walk again after being tortured. I've been trying to reconnect with my life again. I will _not_ go with you. I will _not_ allow you to take me over."

"We do out number you. Five to one." The speaker didn't sound angry or even threatening. He was simply giving information.

"Five to three," Tony said, stepping forward with Ziva.

"There are more on this side than there are of the FBI," came another voice out of the darkness.

"Who are you?" the FBI agent asked.

"CIA."

Tim looked back over his shoulder, took a deep breath and let it out slowly but said nothing about the revelation of yet more CIA presence in his life.

"The FBI is outnumbered."

Tim shook his head.

"No! This is not going to turn into a fight! I am not allowing that either." He looked from the FBI toward the still-concealed CIA agents. "This is not about fighting for supremacy. This is about what I am saying, what I am going to accept. You will _not_ be taking me with you."

"We have our orders."

"I don't care. You can go back to DC and tell your bosses that I'll be back there in about a week. They have that much time to be ready for me. They won't be winning, but I'll give them the chance to try. This is not a fight for control of information. This is my life. I have done nothing wrong, and I am not letting you spirit me away like I'm a criminal you're arresting. I don't care what you try to say to pretend it's anything else. I will be treated like a criminal, and I won't accept that. I don't want this to turn into a fight. We should be on the same side, but if you force me into a fight, you will lose. You are outnumbered, and you are wrong."

Silence. A number of figures in the darkness. No one was moving. The wind had picked up and it was cold...but no one moved.

"What are you going to do?" Tim asked.

The dark figures of the FBI pulled back and vanished from the area without saying a word. Tim then turned to where the voice of the CIA agent had come.

"And you?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have said anything if it hadn't been necessary."

"How long?"

"As long as you've been here."

"Okay." Tim paused. "...I think you can leave now."

"I'll leave you alone, but we're not leaving until you leave."

"Understood."

Tim heard footsteps walking away.

Finally, he was alone with Tony and Ziva on the hill.

Tim turned and looked at them.

"Wow, Tim," Tony said.

Tony thought he could see a slight smile on Tim's face as it was illuminated slightly by the distant lights in the house.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me back to the house?"

Tim's knees started to buckle. Tony and Ziva leapt forward and caught him before he could fall.

"How did you manage to stand for so long?" Ziva asked, feeling how much pressure Tim was putting on her shoulders.

"I had to. So I did."

They started to make their awkward way back to the house, Tim leaning on them both.

"Way to go, Probie," Tony said. "Haven't heard you talk like that...maybe ever."

"I have to deal with things. I can't let them control me anymore. I have to take control of my own life."

"How long have you felt like that?"

Tim chuckled a little. "How long have we been out here?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. That's how long. I didn't know that...that I could do this until I had to."

"Are you really going back?"

"Yeah. I guess it's time. I would have liked to stay a bit longer. ...did you know about the CIA being out here?"

"No," Tony said. "It doesn't really surprise me, but I didn't know they were there."

"The house...CIA?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "Gibbs asked Carew for help."

"_Gibbs_ asked for help?"

"Yes. He felt it was more important to get you safe than to avoid the CIA."

"He didn't...promise anything?"

"He says he did not. He simply demanded that Carew help."

They walked in silence for a few moments.

"What are you going to do back in DC?" Tony asked.

"I'm going to get my life back and I'm not going to let anyone take it away from me again."

"And Carew?"

"He can't take it from me if I don't let him. I still owe him, and I'll have to pay that back, but I don't have to give him my life...my soul. I can keep that. Dr. Hicks has helped me see it. I can still...be who I am and face the world as it is. I'm...not very good at it yet, but I'll have time. I'll make sure I have time. ...and I have a week to get ready."

"What will you do?" Ziva asked.

"Talk to Dr. Hicks."

"Tim, you can ask us for help, you know."

Tim just smiled and shook his head. "No. Not about this. Dr. Hicks can help. You can't."

"Why not?"

Tim stopped walked and straightened, testing his feet on the ground.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not what you're thinking. This is something you genuinely cannot help with. I'm really glad you guys were here tonight. It helped, even if I had to make a threat I didn't want to make."

"It worked."

"Yeah, but...but I meant what I said. We should all be on the same side, and I am _tired_ of people dying for me. I don't want them fighting for me either."

"You can't control them, Tim," Tony said. "If you could..."

"This wouldn't be happening, but I can do what I can to keep it from ever happening again."

"And you need Dr. Hicks for that?"

"I need information Dr. Hicks can give me...and I'll make my plan...and then..."

"Then, you will tell us," Ziva said. "You will, and you will not try to protect us from these things. It is impossible, and we have all seen the problems you have been facing, even if you refuse to tell us more. You will not try to do this on your own. Understand?"

Tim started to protest.

"You will not force us to face another disappearance with no idea of what has happened. You were not here to see what happened to _us_ when you vanished, Tim. Every time you have gone away, _we_ have been hurt by it, too. You have no control over most of those things, but you have control this time, and you will _not_ put us through that again."

"I won't," Tim said softly. "...but you can't assume that you'll be part of everything. I won't leave you behind."

"Good," Tony said. "Then, you won't mind that I'm going to call DC and tell them you're coming back."

Tim smiled. "No. I don't mind. I've missed everyone."

"Good because I am willing to bet that Abby is going nuts."

"Probably. I think...I can walk again."

"Are you sure? We can help," Ziva said.

"I know you can, but I need to walk on my own if I can."

Tim took a few faltering steps and then got his bearings and walked very slowly back to the house. Tony helped him up the stairs and into his room. Then, Tim actually fell asleep. Tony and Ziva, however, set up a vigil. It was one thing to acknowledge that there were CIA people watching them, but it was another to accept that no one else was going to try and penetrate Tim's sanctuary.

No one came during the night and Tony and Ziva both fell asleep near dawn. Tim woke up before them, and he smiled at their caution when he hobbled out of his room. He wondered when he had suddenly felt safe knowing that the CIA was watching him. When had that gone from being nearly unbearable to be something he could actually _want_? Tim didn't know, but he was okay with having that sick feeling gone from his stomach. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been watched for a long period of time already without knowing about it...he'd felt safe and he hadn't even realized he had watchers. Maybe that was it. ...or maybe it was an awareness of what Dr. Hicks had been trying to hammer into his brain: he had to learn to trust again. Funny that it was the CIA...and those FBI agents that he had trusted.

His feet started aching, a signal that he'd been standing for too long. He limped to the kitchen and got the chair Tony had purchased for him. It was high enough that he could sit on it and reach the counters, and it had casters. It allowed him to work in the kitchen even if he couldn't stand for long periods of time.

_That_ was something that still worried him. While he was definitely better than he had been before, it was taking a long time for his feet to heal. What if they never healed all the way? The only thing that kept him from panicking about it was the fact that his doctor and David had both said he'd likely fully recover. He'd deal with the pain for now if it would go away later. He just hoped that it would...and that he'd have the chance for it.

Quietly, he started getting out ingredients for breakfast. There was a really fun waffle iron, and waffles were easy to make. So Tim got out the eggs and milk and started mixing things together. Then, he plugged in the waffle iron and set the first cup of batter cooking. The first beep signaling that Tim needed to turn the iron over woke up his companions.

Tony and Ziva walked into the kitchen, yawning a little bit.

"Tim, what's up?"

"Breakfast," Tim said with a smile. "You guys looked tired. Did you stay up all night?"

"Obviously not the entire night," Ziva said, smiling back at him. "As much as we could."

Tim looked at them and felt a bit of a lump in his throat. "Thanks, you guys," he said softly.

"Our pleasure, Probie," Tony said.

Tim rolled his chair to one of the cupboards and pulled out the plates. He turned around and held them out to Tony.

"Set the table?" he suggested.

"Sure thing, Tim."

Ziva walked over to Tim and cupped a hand on his cheek. Tim reached up and pulled it down and then silently ran his fingers over the scars on her wrists from her imprisonment. Ziva shook her head.

"There is no need to think of it any longer, Tim," she whispered. "Let it go as you have been letting other feelings go."

Tim smiled back at her but didn't reply. Ziva leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and then grabbed some utensils and helped Tony set the table. Tim focused on the waffles.

Breakfast was a light affair. They decided not to talk about anything important. They cleaned up together, and then David came to give Tim his therapy for the day. Tim informed him that they would all be leaving soon and expressed his gratitude for all David's help. David promised to get recommendations ready for Tim's future therapy wherever he ended up.

After David left, there was a wait for Dr. Hicks to arrive. Tim asked Tony and Ziva to wait to call DC until after he'd spoken with Dr. Hicks. A lot was riding on what Dr. Hicks could tell him.

...about Carew.


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

"I hear that you had some excitement last night, Tim," Dr. Hicks said as he sat down.

Tim nodded and tried to smile. "I'm going back. To DC. Vacation's over."

"I figured you'd probably have to once the FBI showed up."

"I need to ask you some questions. About Carew."

Dr. Hicks furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to need to speak with him and I need to get an idea of how he'll respond. You understand him better than I do."

"That's debatable, but let's talk about something else first."

"What?"

"You were afraid?"

"When?" Tim asked.

"Last night."

Tim looked down. "Why is this important?"

Dr. Hicks chuckled. "Because it's part of who you are, and while I don't doubt that you do need to start making a plan, you also need to acknowledge that you were frightened."

Tim swallowed and nodded. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"I was afraid that...that they'd start fighting over me." Tim forced a laugh. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it? Like it's some kind of twisted version of a sappy romance. ...but they were going to. If I hadn't said anything, people could have died. Because of me. Again. I don't want anyone to die for me. I don't want people to be changed, corrupted, twisted to save me. I don't want that. Ever."

"Who are you talking about here, Tim?"

"My friends," Tim whispered. "Tony and Ziva. They keep pressing me to tell them more of what's going on in my head, but I don't want them to see it. They can't make it go away, and I don't want to tell them enough that they'll understand because it will change them, twist them like it's twisted me. I don't want that for them."

"Interactions with the CIA don't _have_ to be all negative, Tim."

Tim managed to smile slightly. "I know that, but except for you...and...and Geoff..."

"Geoff?"

"Geoff Banta. He was one of the people watching me...and he died, trying to save me, trying to protect me. Just another death I have on my head."

"No, Tim," Dr. Hicks said firmly. "You cannot take the blame for the deaths caused by others."

"But it happened because _I_ was there! Geoff would have been fine if he had been anywhere else. That man who flew the plane for the terrorists...if he had only left the crate closed..." Tim felt the tears again. "...all those people and their families...all dead."

"No. Tim, we've talked about this. You cannot take the blame for those deaths. You didn't commit those murders and you hated them. If you could have stopped them, you would have. We both know that. Don't let another event damage the progress you've made."

Tim looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds. "I didn't want to have to face that again. I've...I'm better than I was, but I...I don't know if I could deal with it. Dr. Hicks, I...I don't want people to die for me."

Dr. Hicks looked at Tim earnestly. "Tim, there are some things you can't control. You are taking control of your life, and that's good...but don't make the mistake of assuming that you can control whatever comes into your sphere of existence...because you can't. You couldn't have controlled those FBI agents showing up. You couldn't have controlled the CIA agents being there."

"Did you know about them?"

"Yes. I did. I also knew that this house was provided by the CIA."

"By Carew."

"Yes. Tim, this is one of those things you have to learn to accept. It just is. You don't want to be important. You don't want to be the kind of person people want to use. ...but you are, and since you are, you have to learn how to discern between the things you can control and the things you can't. ...and you can't control other people."

"I know that. I do, but..."

"I understand, Tim. You've had too many times where you were powerless to stop deaths from occurring around you. Being helpless in that kind of situation makes you want to control it, to stop it from happening, and you can't. I understand that kind of threat being troubling to you. It's something that you'll have to deal with." Dr. Hicks paused and then smiled. "When you go back to DC, would you like to continue our sessions?"

"What?" Tim asked, the question taking him by surprise.

"I think you could use further therapy, although you're definitely doing a lot better and I'm happy with your progress. If you'd rather stop, it's your perogative."

"Won't you be busy?"

"Of course, but if you're one of my clients, you'll be part of my schedule. As you might guess, I'm not one of the agents who goes off on secret missions. I'm not physically capable and I never have been. I'm just a shrink. Do you want to continue?"

Tim thought about it. The distrustful part of him wanted to say no and wanted to cut off all his ties to the CIA as soon as he could...but the more logical part of him realized that Dr. Hicks was a good fit for what he needed and that he'd dealt with a lot of things he'd been unable to tolerate before.

"If I'm free..." Tim said softly.

"Well, let's get on that, then. I'm assuming your questions about Carew have to do with going back to DC."

"Yes."

"Fire away," Dr. Hicks said with a smile.

"Would Carew accept it if I simply told him I needed his help...without promising him anything in return?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I actually am not aware of most of the deals he's made. I do know that he has a number of people who owe him favors. He used a few to give you the space to heal, although clearly, we've reached the limits of it."

"Yeah. Looks like it."

"So, you tell me. Why would you think that this approach could succeed?"

"Because...once, Carew told me that the world needed people like me and I didn't have to be like him. I'm not a...a dealer. I don't sneak around. I just want to be able to explain and have people understand what I want."

"If Carew thinks that the world needs you as you are, you probably have a better chance than most do. I find it rather intriguing that he feels that way and he told you."

"Didn't stop him from using me anyway. Just stopped me from doing his dirty work...some of it."

"I'm not going to try and convince you that Carew isn't the devil incarnate, Tim...but I do think that there might be merit in your approach. You can only try."

"Yeah. Try. I just wish I knew whether or not it would work. I'm not the kind of person who can manipulate other people...not without feeling guilty about it. When all this started...I tried to get Gibbs, my boss, to promise me that he'd stop all these things from happening. He couldn't, but I tried to make him because I knew if I could get him to promise, he'd do it...even if it killed him. ...but I couldn't do it...and just trying made me feel even worse."

"I can see that being the case. I can't tell you Carew's reaction, but Carew has had an interest in you since you came into the CIA sphere. There is something that intrigues him, although I can't tell you what that is because he hasn't been willing to elaborate."

"Carew isn't evil," Tim said softly. He knew that Dr. Hicks believed that already, but it was important that he admit it aloud. "I almost wish he was because then I could understand him...but I can't. I only know that he puts the country ahead of everything...and I think he would include himself in that. He certainly includes everyone else. I don't want to have to rely on him, but I need to. I need someone with more clout than anyone at NCIS has...and Carew has that. In spades if the way he treated me is any indication."

"I think he is well-connected and has more power than he lets on. What will be your approach?"

"In person. I'm going to talk to him in person. I think I can get to him without much trouble. If he's there, he'll see me." Tim wasn't sure how true that was, but he _was_ fairly certain that Carew would be willing to talk to him at some point.

"And will you admit that you need his help?"

"Yes. I don't see how I can lie about it. Carew seems to be able to see right through me."

"He's not infallible, but he has made a study of reading people."

"Do you help him?"

Dr. Hicks laughed. "No. He doesn't ask me for help. He meets with me because he knows it's a necessity in a position like the one he holds...and he trusts me."

"Because he knows you."

"Yes. I'm sure that has a lot to do with it."

"Dr. Hicks?"

"Yes?"

"Am I wrong?" Tim asked, bringing the conversation full circle.

"About what?"

"About keeping things from my friends." Tim got up and walked to the window. Tony and Ziva were out on the deck. Tony was apparently giving her some kind of geography lesson, pointing to the mountains on the eastern horizon. "They want me to tell them things, but I don't want to. I've never wanted to, not from day one. I kept it from them for weeks until something else happened that made it impossible to keep it a secret. I've only ever told them what I felt like I had to tell them. They keep saying that I should trust them and tell them more...but I don't _want_ them to know. I don't want to tell them all these horrible things that I've done and how I felt about it. It's bad enough that they know they happened."

"But they _do_ know."

"Yeah. They do. ...and I wish they didn't. I want this to be over, but it can't be. Not until I'm dead."

"Is that what you want?"

"Sometimes...but even with everything that's happened...I still want to live most of the time...even though I've..."

"No, Tim. You can't go there."

"I know, but..."

"No buts. This is the way you need to head. Away from blaming yourself and toward accepting that there are some things you couldn't have done to stop people from being killed. You couldn't do anything, and blaming and punishing yourself won't help. If you want to get control of your life, that's great. Just don't forget that there are limits to what you can control."

Tim knew that there was a lot of truth to what Dr. Hicks was saying. It was just hard to keep it in mind all the time. He sat down across from Dr. Hicks and smiled.

"I want to keep meeting with you...if that's all right."

"Of course, Tim. I wouldn't have suggested it if I hadn't meant it."

"Okay."

"Keep your hopes up, Tim. Don't let what other people want for you drag you down. That's what I told you in the beginning. If others don't want to let you be a human being, you have to _insist_ on it. You _can't_ forget, even if others have...in fact, _especially_ if others have."

Tim nodded, and looked out the window again. Tony and Ziva were still talking. Tony had refused to leave him alone, had kept him from withdrawing from humanity, had believed in him. There would always be _someone_ who knew he was a human being...if he let them be there.

Dr. Hicks made arrangements to keep coming to meet with Tim for the rest of the time he was in Idaho and then left Tim with Tony and Ziva...to make a call.

"Are you ready for this, McGee?"

"Which part?" Tim asked, sitting on the couch. There was a phone, regular phone, sitting in front of them.

"Of committing to return to DC," Ziva said.

"I already said I would. I'm not going to change my mind," Tim said.

"They will be happy to see you."

"Ecstatic," Tony said.

Tim smiled.

"Dial."

"Yes, sir."

Tony dialed. They waited.

"_Gibbs."_

"Hey, Boss. You're at NCIS?" Tony asked.

"_What is it, Tony?"_

"Go down to Abby's lab, and get Ducky and Jimmy."

"_What's up, DiNozzo?"_

Tony grinned at Ziva.

"Just do it, okay, Boss?"

There was a period of silence, a ding and then some muffled conversations. Tim said nothing. He just waited.

"_What is it, Tony?"_

"Everyone is there?" Ziva asked.

"_Yes. What is it?"_

"We're coming back," Tim said with no ceremony.

There was a shocked pause.

"_Back?"_ Abby repeated.

"Yes. Next week."

"_Why?"_ Jimmy asked. _"Ow! Abby!"_

"Don't hit him, Abby," Tony said. "It's a good question."

"_What brought this sudden change?"_ Ducky asked.

"The FBI showed up here last night," Tony said.

"_What?"_ Gibbs asked.

"They were planning on taking me into protective custody."

"_How did you stop them?"_

"I told them no," Tim said. "...and it turns out that we have some CIA watchers."

"_Since when?"_

"As long as I've been here. I never noticed them. ...but then, the house I'm staying in is CIA, too."

"_Yeah, it is."_

"That's what you wouldn't tell me."

"_That's right," _Gibbs said.

"No apology?" Tim asked.

"_No. You needed time we couldn't give you, McGee. You needed it and you used it like I'd hoped you would. I can't apologize for that."_

Tim swallowed and looked at Tony and Ziva for a moment.

"...and I can't insist on it...but I've learned a lot the last few weeks...from Dr. Hicks. He's CIA, too."

Another stunned silence.

"_How?"_

"Carew anticipated," Tim said succinctly.

"He's a good guy, Boss," Tony said. "We've all met him."

"_McGee?"_ Gibbs asked.

"I trust him, Boss."

"_And?"_

"And I'm coming back. I have one stop to make before I go back to NCIS, but I'll be there. I'm not walking completely yet, but I'm on my own two feet. ...and I'm ready to fight again, Boss. You were right. I needed the time...and I've had it. I wish I could have had more time. It's been nice here, separated from everything, but Tony was right."

"_About what, Timothy?"_

"There's only one world, and I can't avoid it any longer. Tell Director Shephard that I'll be ready to talk to the people who are going to try to insist that I can't be out in this world."

"_And what are you going to tell them?"_ Gibbs asked.

"I'm going to tell them that I'm done. I'm not going to play anymore, and they aren't going to use me anymore. I'm finished."

"_And if they don't accept that?"_

"They'll have to," Tim said. He heard his own voice getting harder. "I won't accept anything else."

"_How will you guarantee that, Timothy? You know that these are not people easily persuaded."_

Tim smiled a bit humorlessly. "I'll have backup. There's always someone watching, and this time, I'm going to use that."


	39. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

_One week later..._

"You have everything?" Ziva asked.

Tony looked around. "Yeah. We didn't come with very much. Just clothes. I didn't feel inspired to buy any souvenirs."

Tim laughed a little but his expression was a little wistful as he looked around the big open room of his sanctuary. He was more than a little ambivalent about leaving, and it had been obvious the entire week. He said that he had to go, that it was probably for the best, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave and confront all the things that were sure to crop up when he revealed himself.

"You ready to leave, Tim?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

"Sound a little more enthusiastic, why don't you," Tony said, smiling.

"Give me some time."

There was a knock on the door. Tony raised his eyebrows.

"David said he was going to bring his recommendations for my physical therapist when I get back to DC. He forgot it this morning."

Tony nodded and headed over. He opened the door and stepped back in surprise.

"You!" he said.

There was an awkward smile.

"Hi, Tony. I'm really glad you weren't lying about where you lived."

"Jodi...what are you doing here?" Tony asked.

"Well...I was thinking that it might be nice for you to see me when I'm not...working on the farm. I've been sitting out in my car debating about whether or not I dared try for about twenty minutes."

Tony laughed and stood aside. "Come on in!"

Jodi smiled and walked by him. She was dressed in nicer clothes, definitely. In fact, there was not a rip or a dirt stain on anything she was wearing. She paused when she saw Tim and Ziva. Tony was fairly certain that Tim's scars had surprised her, but she didn't comment on them. She just smiled when she saw the luggage.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Yeah. Today."

"Oh. I have great timing," Jodi said awkwardly.

"Well, we may still introduce ourselves," Ziva said, walking forward. "I am Ziva."

Tim also got up and approached, although he was noticeably limping. "I'm Tim."

"Jodi," she said, shaking hands, not mentioning her obvious curiosity. In fact, she seemed to be making a deliberate attempt _not_ to look at Tim in any way that might be construed as prying.

"This is my fence-hitter," Tony said with a grin.

Jodi chuckled. "That's me."

"Ah, then it is very nice to meet you. Tony has mentioned you more than once," Ziva said.

"Really?" Jodi looked at Tony for a moment. "I wasn't aware that...I'd made that kind of impression."

Tony rescued Jodi from the awkward situation. "Hey, you said you were always wondering about this house. How would you like a tour?"

"Don't you have to leave?" Jodi asked.

"Not yet. We have a few hours. We were just making sure nothing got left behind. Come on. You should see this place once. It's worth seeing."

"Okay. It was...nice to meet you both," Jodi said and then let Tony lead her away, down into the basement.

"There's a media room down here, an endless pool."

"There's a _pool_?" Jodi asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Nice one, too."

Tony led her throughout the basement. She was appropriately awed, but Tony could tell she was uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry if I...intruded, Tony. It wasn't my plan. I...well, I'm not sure I had enough of a plan really."

"You didn't. We were definitely surprised that you came by, but you're not intruding."

"Could I ask you what happened to your friend? I didn't want to ask him. It seemed rude to stare."

Tony smiled and easily glossed over details she couldn't know, and probably didn't really _want_ to know. He certainly didn't want to tell her about how nasty the world could be. "He's had a rough couple of years. He's the reason we came here in the first place. Tim needed the time to recover."

"Oh. So...I guess you won't be back."

Tony smiled. Jodi wasn't actually looking at him at the moment. Ostensibly, her attention was focused on the fancy chairs in the media room.

"Oh, I don't know. Idaho's kinda grown on me."

"Like mold?" she asked, showing a bit of spark.

He laughed. "No. Not like mold. Too dry for that here. I'm still a city guy, but I could come back here for a visit."

"Well...if you do, you can look for me on the farm. I might be there...in the summer, not in the winter."

"I'll remember that," Tony said, sincerely.

The rest of the tour was fairly quick and then Jodi begged off staying any longer, saying that her family would start wondering where she'd gone and would tease her mercilessly if they found out what she'd done. Tony waved her on her way and then went back inside.

"She does not seem to be your type, Tony," Ziva commented.

"She's not," Tony said, nodding in agreement. "I'm probably not her type, either."

Tim smiled. "I can see why you like her."

"What?"

"She's different. Nothing hidden or shocking about her. Just a normal person in the crazy world. Makes her pretty rare, doesn't it."

"Yeah. It does."

"Would you date her?" Ziva asked.

"Not seriously."

"As friends," Tim said softly.

"Yeah. If I come back here again."

No one said anything to that. They all knew it was unlikely, but the idea was nice to hold onto. A vacation, not to hide. Just a vacation and the possibility of a date with a normal person.

Funny how things like that became desirable dreams.

David dropped off his list and then they packed up and left, driving to Jackson Hole to make their final departure.

"_We're making our final approach to Washington, DC. If you're not sitting already, please take your seats and buckle your seatbelts. We're expecting some turbulence on the way down. Oh, and Agent McGee, Director Carew will be expecting you."_

"Director Carew?" Tony asked. "You're not going there, are you?"

"Yes. Before we go to NCIS, I need to go to McLean. In fact, um, you guys need to let me go alone."

"No way, Probie!" Tony said loudly. "No freaking way!"

The plane started its descent. Tim leaned forward.

"Tony, listen."

"No! Not if you're going to..."

"Tony!" Tim interrupted. "This is something I have to do! This is not me sacrificing myself. I promise. That's not what this is, but it's something I have to do alone, not because I don't trust you, but because the conversation I need to have is not one that Carew will allow if there are witnesses. He may not even allow it with just me there. This is necessary."

Ziva took Tim's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Can you really trust that you will be safe there? Do not forget what they have done to you," she said.

"I haven't. I never will. I can't," Tim said, squeezing her hand back. "But I also haven't forgotten what they've done _for_ me. It's time to see just how far that will go."

"Tim."

"Look at me, Tony. This isn't the mask," Tim said. "I'm scared, and I'm admitting that, but I'm a lot less scared of Carew than I am of others who have intentions I don't know about. I know exactly what Carew might want of me. I also know what he's done for me. I'm not hiding behind the mask anymore. I'm doing what I need to do. Please, trust me."

Ziva let Tim's hand go and touched Tony's shoulder.

"Tony," she said softly. "We must trust him."

Tony looked like he wanted to do anything but that...but he nodded reluctantly.

"How will you get there?" he asked.

"There will be someone there to pick me up, I'm sure."

"You'd better come out of there, Tim," Tony said. "Because if you don't, we'll be storming the battlements."

"I know...but I don't think you'll have to. ...and if you have to storm anywhere, it won't be the CIA. They're the least likely to try to take control. Carew knows me too well."

The plane touched down, and the noise was such that it was hard to talk. They all sat back in their seats and waited. As the plane taxied to the private hangar, they didn't speak. What needed to be said had been already, and if none of them were quite happy with the result, they all were accepting it.

Tony and Ziva carried the luggage off, not letting Tim do any of the heavy lifting as he carefully made his way down the steps. Even though he was still not walking well, he couldn't help but compare this to when he had first arrived in Jackson Hole, when he was in a wheelchair and every bump and jolt brought him pain. He was walking on his own and the pain he did feel was completely manageable.

A car pulled up as they were getting to the exit.

"Agent McGee, Agent DiNozzo, Officer David."

"Agent Andrews," Ziva said in surprise. "Have you nothing better to do than act as chauffeur?"

Andrews grinned. "I think the idea was that you guys would be more likely to trust me than some other random CIA spook."

"Good idea," Tony said. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going to take you to Officer David's car in the long-term parking lot and then drive Agent McGee to McLean. After his meeting with Director Carew, I...well, I'm not sure, but my understanding was that Agent McGee would be returned to NCIS. I won't be the driver."

Tony looked at Tim.

"Are you sure about this, Tim?"

"Yes, I am, Tony."

"Okay. Let's go."

Tim could see that Tony and Ziva (especially Tony) were not happy about getting out of the car and leaving him in it, but he just smiled at them and waved them away. Then, he leaned back against the seat and hoped that this would all work out.

"How are you doing, Agent McGee?"

"Fine."

"This is the first time I've been able to talk to you. I was on your protection detail...for all the good it did you in the end."

"You knew Geoff Banta, then."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry he died," Tim said. "I would never have wanted any of you to die for me."

"I'm sorry he died, too, Agent McGee, but it's our job. We go into it knowing what it could require. There's a memorial wall in CIA headquarters. There are no names on the wall. There's a book that has a few names, but a lot of them have nothing. They can't have anything. Every so often, another star gets added and we know that someone else has died, and no one will ever know who it was or what he did. There won't be any accolades and more often than not, we'll see nothing but criticism of what we do...but it doesn't matter. We don't do this for the fame and we don't do it to stay safe. We do it to keep other people safe. The methods we use may not seem the best, but it's what works."

Tim just nodded.

"I just wish that we could have stopped them. It was my first time seeing something like that. I wasn't ready for it, but now that I've seen it, I have to do my part to stop it from happening again."

Andrews let Tim stay quiet for the rest of the drive. When they reached McLean, he pulled off to the entrance to Langley. Tim had been here more times than he would ever had thought would be possible, and he didn't particularly want to be here now, but as he had told Tony, this was necessary.

Andrews pulled up to the main entrance, getting Tim as close as possible. He got out and thanked Andrews for the ride. Then, he took a breath and walked into the building. It wasn't a quick pace. He couldn't do that yet, but he didn't pause at all. He just walked toward Carew's office. No one stopped him; so they knew he was coming. He made his way to his destination and knocked on the office door.

For just a moment, he remembered the first time he'd come to Carew's office. He had been so afraid of being taken, being killed that he had been almost unable to think. Only his imperfect mask had kept him from breaking down. Strange how different he felt now.

"Come in, Agent McGee."

All-knowing as ever. Tim opened the door and came inside.

"Have a seat. I'm sure you're not up to standing around much yet."

"I'm not," Tim agreed and sat down.

"What brings you here before you even allowed your friends to fuss over you?"

"You haven't talked to Dr. Hicks?"

"Only insofar as he told me you were coming to talk to me. What brings you here? I can't imagine it's for the pleasure of my company." There was a slight smile on Carew's face.

Tim thought about delaying, but he decided there was no point to that. He didn't want to stay here any longer than he had to.

"I need your help," he said.

Carew leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrows in a parody of surprise.

"Oh, really."

"Yes. I need your connections, your political pull."

"For what?"

"To keep me free. I'm not going to go through this anymore. I can't tolerate having to justify my freedom year after year, no matter who it is. What happened last year was only temporary. This time, it has to be finished."

"I think you have an inflated sense of my power and influence."

"I don't," Tim said. "And I need your help. I need you to speak out in my favor."

"You realize, I hope, what that will do."

"In what sense?"

"In the minds of the people you will have to defend yourself from, you will be inextricably aligned with me. NCIS or not, they will think of you as being an ally of the CIA. Are you ready for that?"

"I don't care," Tim said, and it was true. He'd got past caring about what things appeared to be. He worried a lot more about reality. "They can think what they like. I need them to stop. I've been looking over my shoulder constantly, as much for them as for anyone else. This has got to be over."

"And how do you expect me to do that?"

"By supporting me when I tell them."

"You're just going to tell them that it's over?"

"Yes."

"And you expect them to listen."

"Yes...not just because I'll be there telling them, but because what I'm saying is true. You know it...and you can tell them that it's true."

"Why would I do that?" Carew asked.

"Because I'm someone you need...and because you told me that I didn't have to be like you. If this keeps up, I'm going to be more like you than I want to be. I do not want to be you, Director. I am not you, and I need to be myself."

Carew looked at him silently for a long time. For just a moment, Tim thought that he had seen some genuine interest in Carew's black eyes, but that was gone in less than a second.

"I'm impressed, Agent McGee."

"By what?"

"There's no mask. You are being completely open with me, which is a surprise, I have to admit, but I have no doubt that you could keep yourself honest and yet in control. That's pretty impressive."

"I've had time."

"Yes, and the therapy you've been resisting."

"Why Dr. Hicks?"

"I trust him."

"Because you saved him?"

Carew smiled. "No. That's not why, although I certainly can credit that with bringing him to my notice."

"Then, why?"

"That is not germaine to this conversation, Agent McGee. You have been asking for my help, not for my history."

"So?" Tim asked.

"You haven't said what you're offering."

"That's because I'm not offering anything. I can't. I have nothing to give you that you haven't already taken. This is not a negotiation. This is what I'm asking you and what you're giving."

Carew smiled and got to his feet.

"Well, then, I believe we have an appointment."

Tim furrowed his brow. "We do?"

"Do you want to put this off? I don't think it's in your best interest...and thus, is not in _my_ best interest either."

"Where are we going?"

"Let's just say that the FBI took you at your word when you told them they had a week to get ready for your return. Delays aren't useful at this point, and will only give them more chances to argue against you. If you're laying down an ultimatum, you had better do it now."

Tim got slowly to his feet.

"What will happen if this doesn't work?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Carew said. "If you mean will you be able to go and see your friends, I can't tell you that. This is your show. I'm playing second fiddle...but I won't miss my notes."

He gestured grandiloquently and followed Tim out the door. This wasn't exactly the timing Tim had expected, but he supposed that this was the only real option left open to him. He walked out the door and then let Carew lead him to the next step in getting his life back. Would this work? He had no idea.

He only had hope.


	40. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

The place they went to didn't look familiar to Tim at all. He was fairly certain he'd never seen it before.

"Uh...where are we going?"

Carew smiled.

"To a safe place for a confrontation. Given the nature of the discussion we're about to have and the nature...and position of the people you are going to be haranguing, I felt it would be a better use of our time if we had the benefit of physical separation. They will be forced to pay attention because they can't just grab you and be done...or rather demand that you be grabbed."

"So they don't know where this is?"

"Unlikely, although anything is possible."

"Okay."

The car pulled to a stop in the garage and Tim got out, feeling a bit uncertain. It was a large building with underground parking. He gave Carew a look...and received a smile in reply.

"We don't own the whole thing," Carew said. "Just the important parts. Come on."

Tim followed Carew to the elevator. They went up to the tenth floor. The doors opened and it looked like a normal apartment building.

...but that was only until Carew opened the door. Inside, it looked like a larger version of MTAC.

"How much of your budget do you spend on this stuff?"

"You mean you don't know?" Carew asked with a smile. "I thought you were keeping up with the CIA workings."

"Haven't really had time."

"True. Well, have a seat. I'll get things started."

Tim sat down and watched as Carew walked over to one of the computers and typed quickly and expertly. It was a strange moment for some reason. Maybe because Tim just had forgotten that Carew must have some skills of his own. He wasn't Gibbs who tolerated computers because he had to. Carew had embraced all that computers could do and had made sure he was as good with them as the average person...probably better.

The screens came on...and were shortly filled with a number of important people whose expressions were of varying degrees of disgruntlement. They had been _summoned_ and didn't like it one bit.

"Carew, what is this?"

Carew smiled in his usual way. "Ah, Director Jorgensen. I had such high hopes that you might not perpetuate the impression you leave of utter ignorance."

Tim suppressed a smile. Carew was the master of needling, that was for sure. Before the FBI director could finish swelling with irritation, Carew moved on. From his position as an observer for the moment, Tim was impressed with how Carew managed to keep people off-balance by continually changing his demeanor. One moment teasing, the next completely business-like.

"You know very well why we're all here, Director," he said. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have shown up."

"I was under the impression that this would be a meeting in person, Director Carew."

"Your mistake. Mine would have been allowing the meeting in person."

"_You_ allowing? Since when does the CIA dictate–?"

Carew turned his back on the blustering FBI director and gestured for Tim to approach. Tim got carefully to his feet and walked into view of the camera.

"I'm not dictating, Director Jorgensen. Someone else is. I just happen to be involved in setting up what is being dictated...and supporting that dictation."

There was a soft murmur that ran through the various screens as they noticed who was there.

"Agent McGee," Carew said. "I believe you have something to say."

For just a moment, Tim suffered from a case of intense stage fright. He'd never wanted to have all eyes on him. He worked much better in the background. Then, as he stared at all these important people who cared not one whit about him, he suddenly remembered another time he'd been forced to speak with an important person who didn't care about him only about what he could do for her. Gibbs had told him to tell her to "stick it" and he had managed it, and survived. He took a breath.

"Yes, I do," Tim said. He suppressed the desire to tell them all to "stick it" and focused on what he wanted them to know. "I'm here to tell you all that I'm done. All this...is stopping."

"_What _is stopping?" Director Jorgensen asked.

Tim focused on the FBI director. It seemed like he was the big voice behind those who wanted to take him over. If he could silence that voice, the others would weaken considerably.

"You will stop trying to take control of my life. You will stop demanding my help at every turn. You will stop treating me like a computer and realize that I am a human being. You will stop acting worse than the terrorists who took me and tortured me."

"Worse than terrorists? That seems rather melodramatic, Agent McGee. We're simply trying to keep you safe."

Tim laughed at him.

"You _are _worse than terrorists. Do you want to know why?" Tim looked at them all. No one spoke. "Because when I was taken and tortured, I knew that the terrorists were the bad guys. I knew that I meant nothing to them because all they wanted was what I could tell them. I didn't expect anything better of them, and I could react accordingly. I expected better of you. I didn't expect to be treated in the same way. No, you didn't torture me, but you would have done something that was just as bad in its own way. You would have isolated me from everything that makes life worth living. You would have made me a prisoner when I committed no crime."

"It's called protective custody," Director Jorgensen said.

"I don't care what you would call it to make it seem okay. It's not!" Tim said. Rather than trying to seem as emotionless as Carew did, Tim just wanted to control his emotions so that they could see them and know that he was being honest. "This is not what I want out of my life...and it is _my_ life, not yours. I do not belong to the federal agencies of the United States of America. I am a free citizen. I did not ask to become important. What I've become..."

"...is due to the CIA," Jorgensen interrupted. "Forgive me if I'm confused as to why you are relying on Carew's good nature for support."

"I'm not. ...but I trust Carew more than I trust you, because he is honest about what he wants and what he doesn't care about. You try to cover it under patriotism or protection or safety. You lie to try and get what you want. I don't trust you, and I am done working for you every time you think you could use me. I don't work for the FBI. I don't work for the NSA. I don't work for DHS or the CIA or anyone else. I work for NCIS."

"We all have the same goals."

"Yes, but your approach is a bit lacking when it comes to your concern for the freedom of the individual," Tim said. "I have been forced to do things I don't want to do...by people who should have been on my side. I have been _tortured_ by people who should have been on my side. I have been treated like a _thing_ by people who should have been on my side. That is done. I am not asking you to stop, I am _telling_ you to stop."

Tim looked toward Carew briefly, and found that he was already moving forward.

_He said he wouldn't miss any notes._

"What Agent McGee says is correct. He was tortured as a test of his strength of will in resisting the temptation to reveal secrets. He was surprisingly good. An objective group judged him to be an extremely low risk, and the torture did not, as it could have, turn him against his country. Only against the CIA."

Another moment of silence. Clearly, most of these people hadn't realized what the CIA had done in the beginning of all this.

"And yet, you're there with him. Why?"

That was a different voice, and Tim didn't recognize it right away. It sounded merely curious.

"Because I know what Carew wants, and there is nothing else. He's been satisfied that I'm not a risk."

"Everyone can be broken," Jorgensen said.

"Yes, and I'm no different, but that would be the case no matter where I was. If someone really wanted to get to me, they would. And not the FBI or the CIA or the NSA or anyone else would be able to stop it. So, _this _is stopping now."

"And how will you force us to do that?"

"Is that really necessary?" Tim asked, pinning Jorgensen with a glare worthy of Gibbs. "Do I actually have to _force_ you to treat me like a human being? What are you hearing from me? That I'm saying no because I just am irritated, on a whim? This is not a _whim_. What I am saying should go _without_ saying. At what point did you forget that the people you're protecting have rights? When did you suddenly forget that I am a human being? What I'm hearing from you disgusts me. You make me sick."

There was a pause, almost a shocked silence. Tim was surprised. Could these people really have not considered what they were doing? Was this the first time someone had told them off?

Then, that same voice that had interjected before did so again.

"What do you suggest?"

"That you all leave me alone. If there is something you need and I am really the only person who can provide it...that's a different matter, but over the last year, what I've been doing has not been so difficult that you don't have people who could do it within your organizations. The only reason that I was being asked to come was because you all wanted to say you had partial control of me. You don't, and I'm not perpetuating that illusion any longer."

"And the CIA protection?"

"That's up to Carew," Tim said. "I don't control what he chooses to do."

"The CIA protection will continue, seeing as Agent McGee has access to more CIA secrets than anything else," Carew said in his usual calm manner. He may have been relating the time of day for all his concern.

"And you'll accept that?"

"Like I said, I trust Carew."

"Even though he was responsible for your being tortured," Jorgensen said.

"Yes. Sad, isn't it. He is more trustworthy than you," Tim said.

Again, a moment of silence.

Then, that voice came out again, and this time, Tim recognized it and was surprised...more than a little.

"Agent McGee has made very good points, and I see no reason to deny him his freedom. Director Jorgensen, your request is denied. There will be a notice drawn up regarding Agent McGee...one that will last beyond the next election. This is not up for debate. Understood?"

Tim swallowed as everyone else muttered "Yes, Mr. President."

"Good, and I'm glad to see that you are on the mend, Agent McGee."

Tim cleared his throat. "Thank you...sir."

"I have very little time. Was there anything else?"

"Not on my side...sir," Tim said.

"Good. Then, we're done."

The image went out on the far side. Jorgensen stared daggers at Carew, ignored Tim and his screen went out. The others also went out with the exception of one, that of the NSA.

"Agent McGee, I realize that this may sound as though I was not listening to you, but I assure you that I have been. However, we do have something that we think requires your unique talents. It is not time-sensitive, merely a puzzle we are still working on. If you have the time."

"Not at the moment. I'm still recovering from my...recent experiences, but make your request as you were before and I'll let you know as soon as I can."

The director nodded and then his screen was black. Tim and Carew were left alone in the large room.

"Well done, Agent McGee."

Tim nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed now that he had the chance to think about what he had said...and to whom. He staggered over to the chair and sat down heavily. He watched as Carew shut things down, leaving them with only a dim light. Then, he turned back.

"You're an interesting man, Agent McGee."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, against all logic dictating otherwise, you actually said you trusted me over those other men."

"I know that you won't do more than you said. Dr. Hicks told me that you don't lie, even if some of the things you do come pretty close. I don't doubt that if you intended to make use of me some other way that you'd find a valid reason for it...but you'd tell me first, not just sneak up on me in the middle of the night and drag me away." Tim got to his aching feet. "I don't trust you because I like you or your methods...but because I think I understand them, at least a little. I can even respect what you do to a certain extent. Not much, but a little."

"And you trust Dr. Hicks?"

"Yes. I do."

"Even though he concealed his employer?"

"Yes...because he told me when he judged that I could handle it and let me make the decision. He gave me some control. Why do _you_ trust him?"

Carew raised an eyebrow at Tim's question, but then, he apparently decided to answer.

"Because Dr. Hicks is a man who is exactly what he seems to be. He doesn't feel any need to disguise himself or to hide who and what he is. That makes him invaluable."

Tim scrutinized Carew's face but he revealed nothing...as usual.

"Are you going to take me to NCIS?" Tim asked.

"Of course. I expected you to go there first."

"I didn't want to have to explain why I had to meet with you to all of them and try to convince them all that I had to do it."

"You don't trust them to listen?"

"No. That's not it. I didn't trust myself not to be persuaded by people I _do_ trust. This is something I needed to do...and I needed to do it right away, and by myself. They don't trust you, and I don't blame them."

"Nor do I. I've given them no reason to trust me."

Carew gestured for Tim to precede him out of the room. As they walked down to the garage, Tim didn't feel the need to speak, but he was thinking about Carew...Carew as a young CIA agent, the man who aided in saving Woodrow Hicks. It was an image he couldn't produce. It was too strange.

When they arrived at the Yard, they were passed in without any delay...and Tim found that he was feeling eager to see NCIS again, but the feeling was not the same desperate desire to feel safe. It was a desire to see a place he enjoyed but hadn't seen in a long time. He took a deep breath and felt his lips stretch into a smile. He forgot about Carew sitting beside him. He leaned forward as the car moved closer to the building, hoping for that first glimpse.

Then, there it was, and Tim felt a thrill he hadn't felt in a long time. Then, he remembered who he was with and he sat back, but Carew said nothing, not even when Tim gave him a sidelong glance. He said nothing and revealed nothing that he might be thinking about Tim's actions.

The car pulled up right in front of NCIS headquarters. Tim looked at Carew.

"Are you asking for permission, Agent McGee?"

"Just making sure you had nothing else to say."

"Good luck," Carew said. "Now, I have work to do."

"I'm going to be moving...just so you know. I'll be getting an apartment that has better security. I'm thinking about getting a dog."

"Probably a good idea. I'll let your watchers know."

"They're necessary?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Tim opened the car door and got out, leaving Carew behind and heading into a building he hadn't seen in many months. He almost forgot about the pain in his feet as he stepped inside.

"Agent McGee!"

"Hi, Henry," Tim said.

"I'd say you look terrible, but it's clear that you've looked worse."

Tim grinned. "I have looked worse...felt worse, but I'm...a _lot_ better now."

"Go on up. Good to see you."

Henry shook his hand vigorously and then gestured for Tim to move on through. He limped to the elevator and got on. As it rose, he started to feel a little bit nervous. It had been a while.

The doors dinged open and Tim walked hesitantly into the bullpen. It looked the same. He heard a babble of voices that suddenly stopped.

He saw them all. Abby, Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Jimmy...and Jenny and Cynthia up on the balcony.

"Tim?" Abby said, her voice somewhat strangled.

Tim knew that he looked worse for the wear. His face was scarred. He was limping, and he knew he'd gained some weight after all his depravations, but he also knew that he was a lot better than he'd been...inside.

He smiled.

"Hi," he said softly. "Don't hug me too violently, Abbs. My balance isn't the best."

Abby took that as permission to move and she ran at him and hugged him, not violently but very tightly.

"Oh, Tim. I've missed you!" she whispered.

"I've missed you, too, Abbs."

Abby didn't let Tim go for a while but then she loosened her grip and dragged Tim over to everyone else. Ducky hugged him while Jimmy just awkwardly patted him on the back. Tony and Ziva, since they'd seen him already, weren't as excited to him although they were certainly happy.

"Tim?" Tony asked.

Tim extricated himself from another of Abby's hugs.

"It's done, Tony. As much as can be done."

"What do you mean, Timothy?"

"I told them I wasn't doing this anymore. The CIA will still be watching, but I'm done being the go-to guy for all the other agencies."

"And Carew?"

"He helped. Nothing more...but nothing less."

Tony and Ziva both hugged him briefly.

"Good."

Then, Tim looked at Gibbs.

"I understand, Boss. It was the right thing. Thanks."

Tim put out his hand. Gibbs shook it and then pulled Tim into a one-armed hug.

"Welcome back, McGee."


	41. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The next few weeks saw a return to a kind of routine...if that was even possible. Tim continued his physical therapy and he also kept seeing Dr. Hicks. In addition, he went looking for a new apartment and settled on one in a larger building with some semblance of security. There was a code for getting in and Tim had a buzzer. It wasn't exactly his preference to move, but it made him feel better about his safety. It was a two-bedroom condo, but it felt small after the large house he'd been living in for the last few months. He also let Abby talk him into adopting a dog, a large German Shepherd which she named Jethro before he could protest. He was a retired drug dog, and Abby had been wanting to adopt him herself for ages, but her manager wouldn't allow it. Little dogs that rode around in people's handbags were fine. Large alsatians were not. She put on her best pout and told Tim that he'd been wanting a dog anyway and he'd be hard-pressed to find a better-trained big dog than Jethro. Tim agreed to try it out for a little while, but he was skeptical that it would work out as well as Abby thought it would. ...but after two weeks, he was surprised at how well it did work. He got a dog walker (vetted by the CIA) and the apartment was large enough that Jethro didn't seem to feel cooped up. There was a small balcony on the side of the building that faced away from other nearby structures. Overall, things were looking up.

He was even back at work on a limited basis and was starting to think that sanity could have place in his life again.

Tim leaned back in his chair and stretched. It wasn't that he didn't love being back at NCIS, but being confined to his desk, with only a few opportunities to walk around, was making his rear end numb and his back ache. But he had his physical therapy session soon and it was time to head out. He was really feeling the difference now. The pace of his healing seemed to be accelerating the longer he was in DC. With that happy thought, he got carefully to his feet and headed out of NCIS.

When he reached the outdoors, he took a moment to stop and breathe. It was the freedom of being able to walk outside if he wanted to, not having to worry about who was watching him (or at least not too much)...and it was probably the fact that he was finally able to face up to all the things that had been going on in the last few years of his life. That wasn't to say that everything was perfect. It wasn't, and it probably never would be, but Tim was happy...and that wasn't something he could have said only a few months ago.

"Agent McGee?"

Tim turned, surprised for a moment, and then he smiled. "Hi, Cynthia."

"You're looking a lot better."

"Well, I won't be winning any beauty contests, but I feel a lot better than I did this same time last year. All this paranoia I've had about...being watched, being taken...it's going away." Then, suddenly, Tim remembered a conversation he'd had with Cynthia before. "So...are you here to tell me what you did before you worked for Director Shephard?"

"Would you like to know?"

Tim was surprised. He hadn't expected it to be an option.

"Yes."

"You have time right now?"

"Yes. I have therapy in a bit, but I've got time."

"Why don't we have a seat, then."

Tim nodded and walked into Willard Park. They sat down.

"So?" Tim asked, feeling almost as surprised at the conversation as he was confused as to why Cynthia was suddenly willing to talk to him.

"I was recruited out of college to work in covert ops. No, I can't give you more details than that. Not CIA, although I've had some interactions with them."

"More like Lawrence?"

"Yes." Cynthia looked toward the river. "Only he's a lot more fortunate than most in covert ops. I was the base of a lot of covert operations. I was the one on the other end of the line, the link to the rest of the world. I was the also the one who would have to cut off communications and leave them to get killed or get out on their own if the operation was compromised or the goals were changed. It's not something that happened often, but it happened too many times for me. There was always that moment of disbelief when they realized they'd been abandoned...that _I_ had abandoned them...because it was my job. So...I got out of it," she said with a sigh. "I was required to sign a number of forms that said if I ever revealed any of the details of the ops, I could spend the rest of my life in Leavenworth. So I won't reveal the details...but that's what I did."

Tim shifted around and looked at Cynthia. He'd never thought of her in this way. She didn't put off the vibe of someone with that kind of experience.

"How did you get...like this?"

Cynthia cocked her head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"I would never have guessed that you have any of that in your background. You don't act like that kind of person."

"Non-disclosure."

"No, it's more than that. You got past it. How?"

"I kept living," Cynthia said. "I can't do justice to the people I was forced to leave behind by trapping myself in the past. That's not what they would want, whether they lived or died."

Tim looked at the river.

"Why did you choose now to tell me?"

"Because, Tim... Agent McGee..."

Tim smiled. "You can call me Tim, if you want. I don't mind."

Cynthia smiled back. "I chose to tell you because I want you to know that I meant it when I said you could call. If something happens again and you need backup, I still remember all the things I did before...and I wouldn't be forced to shut down."

"I hope that won't be necessary..."

"...but with Carew around, you can't depend on that."

"He's not evil."

"No, he's not. He's one of those people who has made the decision to reject concern for the individual. He is the kind of person who can give up without blinking. Not to say that he might not regret it, but no one will ever know that, and he won't look back. For anyone."

"Maybe."

Cynthia took a breath. "Sorry, Tim. I'm not as over it as you might think. I've cut myself off from that world completely."

"You don't have to go back into it for me."

Cynthia put her hand on Tim's knee.

"I know that you, of all people, would never ask...but the offer is open and it's sincere."

"Thanks. You know, Cynthia, I don't like Carew. I really don't, but he's someone I think I'm starting to understand." He grinned. "Whether I like it or not."

"Just be careful, Tim. It's a different world."

"No, it's not. It's all the same world. There is only one...not one existing and one perceived. That's something I need to remember, and it's something to think about, at least."

"Maybe." Cynthia stood up and held out her hand to help Tim up. "Don't forget what I said, though, Tim."

"I won't. I've seen just a glimpse of what you can do, Cynthia...and that's something that impressed me. You're as good at those things as you are at being Director Shephard's assistant." He looked at his watch. "I've got to go."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. You, too."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs heard the door open upstairs, and a slow, unsteady gait told him who it was. He smiled and didn't turn from his work.

"Hey, Boss."

"Box is still waiting for you."

"I figured it would be."

Tim limped down the stairs.

"How you doing?"

"A lot better. It's like...night and day to how I was feeling before."

Gibbs looked up.

"Better?"

Tim smiled and nodded. When he smiled, the scars on the left side of his face crinkled up, giving him a different appearance...but only on the surface. What Gibbs saw in Tim's face was something that had been gone for so long that he hadn't even realized it was gone before.

"Dr. Hicks...maybe any psychiatrist would have done the same thing, but I needed what I've been getting from him."

"I don't like the ties to the CIA, but if you don't mind it, I can't really say anything against him."

"I actually think I needed the ties to the CIA...so that I could see the good parts, not just dwelling on the horrible things that had happened."

Gibbs looked at Tim, and seeing how much better off he was, he could hardly disagree. Instead, he just pointed at the box and moved a stool over by the table. Tim sat down and started to work. They were both silent for about an hour.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy."

"Good."

"I think I'm getting more like my second box. Sides are straightening up."

Gibbs chuckled.

"...and I trust you."

Gibbs smiled to himself and nodded.

"Good."

Maybe Tim had a bit more physical healing to do, and maybe he had more therapy ahead of him...but no matter what, Gibbs was seeing someone he had feared they'd never see again.

Tim McGee.

FINIS!

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** As a final note, there will be a fifth part in this series (cue groaning). I've started working on it a bit, but I haven't hashed out the overarching plot as yet; so it'll be a while.


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